


Too Tired To Wink

by Doodled93



Series: Fixing RTD's Sh*t For Him [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Aliens, Blow Jobs, Blowjobs, Boss Man - Freeform, COE Fix-it, Cuddles, Eunice Bakely, Eye Candy, F/M, Faeries - Freeform, Fix-It, Gen, Hank McMasters, Hank's nerdiness, Humour, Implied Intercourse, Insanity, JACK'S BACK, John Hart being John Hart, Knotting, Little ball of Wales, M/M, Mobsters, Mystery, Other, Sad Ianto, Sequel, Suspence, Torchwood Season 1-3, Tyra Shaw, allusion to sex, lol, not a kid!fic, repeated death, scary things, sequel to And I Wake Up, sleepy Ianto, still haven't seen s4, suddenly angst, warnings for Jack Harkness having sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 50,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodled93/pseuds/Doodled93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is gone, and Ianto is feeling the loss, but... he still has things to do. Boss Man is just around the corner, and he has to deal with him before he can make his way back to Torchwood, back to Gwen and, unknowingly, back to Tosh and Owen.<br/>But with Faeries and Mobsters and Embezzlers getting in the way... well, nothing is ever easy with Torchwood, is it?</p><p>Sequel to And I Wake Up</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Too Tired To Wink by Ludo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [randompersonofdoom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randompersonofdoom/gifts), [blackkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have not read And I Wake Up, you should stop reading this and read the first story.  
> Go on.  
> Do it. While the first chapter has some recap-y elements, you will not understand most of it without reading the first in this series. Seriously, go back, you've gone too far! Wouldn't you rather read the previous 70k before this one? Yeah, you should go do that.  
> Lots of thanks to Randompersonofdoom (HI!!!!) for all her amazingness and awesomesauce and for humouring me when I've been bugging her about writing problems...  
> and of course for making AIWU into a podfic. She's recently put up chapter 3, and I am super excited for 4... like you have no idea.  
> So yeah, enjoy :) Notes on the actual story at the bottom :)

 

It starts with running.

Somehow it’s less of a surprise than it should be, perhaps, but then a number of things turn out that way.

Ianto Jones is running.

Toshiko Sato is running with Owen Harper.

Gwen Cooper-Williams wishes she could be running…

And her husband, Rhys, is making a grocery run.

Others are running, too, with less connection to Torchwood, less importance, but somehow that’s not quite right.

But then, some might tell you that nothing is _ever_ right nowadays.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto Jones is running down streets and alleys, he’s running on fumes, and anxiety, and fear, and the knowledge that should he stumble or slow down he would be caught.

He _could_ be caught this time.

He wouldn’t be, not if he could help it, but he _could_.

(Not a good though, not a good thought at all, happy thoughts, _happy_ thoughts, _happy thoughts_ —)

Thugs behind him, walls on either side—and look, ahead, a wall in front of him, but that wasn’t a problem.

Many things were problematic, but walls and blockades were less so now than they had been, say, a year ago.

(A year ago was a wonderful time, he thought.)

The treads in his boots—remarkably comfortable and fitting the way he knew only happened through podiatrists and inserts—caught on the vague edges of the bricks. Velocity helps him pull himself up, the calluses on his fingers clutching, holding, and he has one moment of ridiculous thought between one wheezing breath and another

_(Spiderman, Spiderman, does whatever a spider can—)_

and he’s over.

He drops onto a twine-wrapped stack of flattened boxes, wheezing, but away from the Thugs, and he can spare a moment, can spare just one breath for a laugh, and he’s running.

He’s tired, so, so very tired, but all he can do now is run.

Run and hope he can chance slowing down for some chips on the way back.

_(Look out, here comes the Spiderman…)_

Dying sucked.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Not many good storybooks start with running, but anyone can tell you that the running’s the best bit.

A knight never rescues a damsel at a leisurely stroll, never trots after a soaring dragon, never walks to the villain, but if we’re going to look at things from a storybook perspective, where there’s a Knight there’s usually a Princess.

Or, in this case, a Prince.

The Knight is usually somehow a Prince as well, never mind the impracticality of allowing the heir to a kingdom ride off on his own to dangers unknown, but for the practicality of the story let’s just say this is going to be a tale of a Knight and his Prince.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Tosh is running down a separate alley, doing figures in her head, calculating speed, distance, probability…

Sudden movement in front of her, a figure snarling, and Weevil Spray is out before it can take a second breath.

The Weevil goes down.

Owen slows to a jog from the alley where the Weevil emerged from, bending to secure the bag over its head.

“Well, can’t say I ever thought I’d miss being the Weevil King…”

Tosh grinned at him. “Don’t get too down… you my not be King anymore, but you’re at least a Baron.” She shakes the can in her hand; not much left but enough for the off chance of the Weevil coming to before they can get it back to the mostly repaired Hub.

While a great deal of it was still cracked and rubble filled, the main areas and the cells were rebuilt and better than ever, storage rooms set up and every wall made with the same care as the archives in the hopes that should there ever be a bomb set off in there again…

Rhys backed the new SUV into the alley, tricked out even more than the previous one even while missing the TORCHWOOD engraving, and after the Weevil is in the trunk he heads out to do a grocery run—something he’s gotten used to with Gwen’s odd cravings.

Weevil in it’s new cell, Tosh goes back to updating the Rift Monitoring equipment and repairing their firewall.

Owen sets in to work on the monitoring equipment, recalculating the regular vitals for the Weevils, and working out the order forms for the medical equipment he still needed.

She’s very careful not to change the back door entry that she’d shown Ianto, way back when, and it’s with an ache in her chest that she wonders why he hasn’t found his way back to them yet.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

The Prince is very well dressed and practical, with a mind turned towards organization.

These are all qualities one might expect to find in a Prince, but are usually found lacking.

This fact, one might theorize, may be the reason these princes are urged to marry, in the hopes that their spouse might make up in where they are deficient. One might further suppose that this is also why so many peasants find their way into royalty, as it is well known that commoners are regular practitioners of uncommon sense and practicality.

This is all, however, supposition, and is not to be taken as fact…

Well, actually, if one were to take all that into consideration, the fact that this Prince was indeed practical, organized and perhaps even knowledgeable of uncommon sense on top of knowing how to snazzily dress oneself, then perhaps this Prince isn’t actually a prince.

It’s much more likely that he would be a peasant, with all these qualities, and perhaps the fashion sense might come from being a Tailor rather than a Prince—

Although this would have to be a oddly well learned Tailor, so perhaps the Tailor’s son? Yes, perhaps with a higher education this Tailors son might have made it to working in the castle, so as to meet his Knight, and perhaps with his mind turned towards organization, he might be an Archivist in the Royal Library…

But no. This is a story about a Knight and his Prince

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Far away, there is a figure draped carefully against the side of a bar.

It’s casual

He’s had too much to drink, and could feel the onset of alcohol poisoning churning his gut, acidic at the back of his throat, but he didn’t care.

That was the whole point of the alcohol after all.

He needed to drown his feelings.

He surveyed the crowd, wondering whose bed he’d be in tonight, wondered how exotic he could go, how different.

He caught the eyes of an attractive female, six legs and two arms sparking his interest as much as the shiny black skin that covered her, and let a slow grin cover his face.

In the low lighting, it took her nearly to him for him to see the red hourglass marking between her breasts, and once upon a time this would have made him hesitate. Hers was a species that had developed from an Earthly source… the Black Widow.

Now, he met her half way, knowing he was going to die tonight and thought this death would be better spent having sex than through alcohol poisoning.

What else did he have to lose?

She took him in her arms, and he had one moment to think that some spiders were lucky, to go their whole lives solely for this moment, to mate and then die, before he let the rest of the alcohols fog take over.

_Nothing._

He had nothing left to lose.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

The Knight is big and strong, daring in all his ventures and indeed noble of heart… however, he makes a strange Knight, so willing to brawl and uncaring of rank.

Indeed, he is most willing to employ underhanded methods to get what he wants, is willing to lie—in fact is able to do so boldfaced and smoothly, and so easily takes insults to his honor.

Indeed, he seems more a Mercenary than Knight, with loyalty not so easily earned through birthright as others of his station…

Save his ideals and willingness to stick to them, indeed it would be more fitting to call him a Mercenary, but even then he is much too complex a person to fit to one mold.

Con-Man, Rapscallion, Pirate, Thief, Hero, Whore, Bandit, Confidante, Spy, Mercenary, and, indeed, Knight… all things that describe this man, are things he is and could be, or at one point was, but his is an old soul and so struggles against being kept in such a neat little box such as these labels.

In the end, the only real label he might fit perfectly is Man, though even then he finds it in himself to wiggle in that slot… but to come down to such a base label does not say much for him, so we come full circle once again.

For this is a story about a Knight and his Prince.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto almost didn’t shower once he got back to his Hideout, feeling that Jackie and her box of kittens could deal with him smelling of sweat and vaguely of garbage… but ultimately the tacky feel of it on his skin urged him to the bathroom.

He stepped into the tub and turned on the nozzle, jerking at the cold water but letting it wash over him as it warmed up.

He was sore, and after this he would have to stretch—carefully with his shoulder; he’d nearly dislocated it when he slipped when climbing.

He looked down to the water swirling down the drain, and wished he could stand to have a bath. It would feel amazing, a nice scalding soak to rid himself of the accumulating aches and pains…

But Ianto didn’t trust himself to not drown himself, so shower it is.

(Yes, he knew it was pointless to drown himself, but it’s a thought, it’s a thought, it’s just a thought, just a _fucking_ —)

Something else, too, is that showers are for thinking forward.

Baths are more of a reflective time, and he couldn’t deal with that right then. Because he had to look to the future—not too far, mind, because he still didn’t want to think about the what if’s of whatever was happening to him, but he could focus on Boss Man.

Boss Man and getting whatever hard copy of his time in the Shooting Range there as from him.

Then… well, figuring out whatever else needed figuring out, and finding some way of dealing with Boss Man in a more long-term way would be fantastic, but…

Ianto sighed.

Small steps first.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

You might ask why this is a story about a Knight and his Prince, and not a Prince and his Knight.

That is a silly thing to ask.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

She’s just about to sign off for the night when the Hub’s monitor lights up with a notification.

She almost dismisses it, tired, but figures she should check it out now rather than later—it could be important, and though things had been quiet lately in terms of murderous aliens…

Well, best not leave anything to chance.

Her eyebrow twitches slightly in annoyance when she reads the alert; apparently an employee of Torchwood’s DNA showed up at a crime scene. She doesn’t know how at the moment, but it’s easy enough to hack into the Police Server and find out which matched, and corrupt the sample—

She stops.

Goes back to read the description of the crime scene, trying her best to understand, because it just didn’t—

No, no, it was right… She sat back in her chair.

Ianto? How could his DNA be there… or…

The police report came in that while carrying out a drugs bust in an old building in London, a large bloodstain was found on the floor and walls of one area… but no body.

They got several samples from all over the area, and it seemed that all were from the same source…

Ianto… But how did—

Was it even possible—

It looked like just too much—

Just how would—

She forced herself to stop, closed her eyes and tried to slow her whirling thoughts, because she just—

She couldn’t help but jump around the thought.

There was so much blood, and if all of it was Ianto’s…

But the estimated timeframe for the possible homicide is nearly four months ago, maybe longer, and it didn’t make any sense.

Because it was after that that she got the files from Ianto, though, well… she didn’t know for certain that it was Ianto.

It had the right writing style, and it made sense with the Thames House kids, and it was just—

The possibility she most wished for.

And it was in that file that most of the information on the Thames House children came from.

She didn’t like the idea that some stranger had managed to hack their way through her firewalls; that they’d navigated into her systems, but that person being Ianto was only one possibility.

And it was just so much blood…

Tosh ran her fingers through her hair, pulling at a snag, and sighed.

She didn’t know what to do here.

If it was Ianto, then it was fantastic, but if it wasn’t…

Tears pricked her eyes.

She didn’t think she could deal with losing Ianto a second time.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Once upon a time there was a Knight and his Prince, and they cared deeply for one another.

They cared for each other in accepted, encouraged ways, and they cared for one another in ways that were most often found culminating in the back of the stables and found in whispered, giggling conversation of the scullery maids. Both thought that they cared for the other in ways more complex than this.

They did not mention this however, as they each thought the other could do better, had done better, and would not reciprocate.

Both men, though thoughtful and bright, were sometimes also immensely dim.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

She just couldn’t deal with it hanging over her head any longer. It felt too much like a threat, like a bribe, like something she didn’t want _any part of_ , and she couldn’t deal with it.

He could convince the others, could pretend like he was doing things out of the goodness of his heart, but Tyra… Tyra didn’t trust the goodness of a person’s heart.

She trusted irrefutable facts, she trusted motive, she trusted reason, and the motive _behind_ a motive…

No one did anything out of the goodness of his or her heart.

They always did things for a reason.

The picture the not-so-mysterious HM had painted of Jones was very pretty, but it was clear that Hank McMasters had been reading too many _superhero_ comics. There just weren’t people like that in the real world. Everyone had something they wanted.

And why would this _Jones_ figure pay all her hospital fees for her Aunt if he didn’t _want_ something? If it wasn’t something now, it was something in the future. She didn’t like the uncertainty.

She didn’t like owing anyone anything; she paid her bills early, she didn’t take favors without being clear on how she would be paying them back, she didn’t ask for anything she couldn’t get on her own. Just thinking of Jones butting into her life and making her _owe him_ had her clenching her fists and grinding her teeth.

How _dare_ he.

So she decided she wouldn’t play his game.

She would get the money to pay the medical bills same as she was before, and when Jones came to collect whatever favor he was looking for—

Well, she would be able to hand him back all his money and be rid of him.

If he revealed her, he would be making it impossible to cash in that favor in any way, and perhaps show his hand to Hank McMasters and Eunice Bakely.

Honestly, the two of them thinking he was some sort of Robin Hood figure… didn’t they remember that a great deal of Robin Hood’s character revolved around _stealing_? He was a hero, sure, but his is a character nearly consumed with spite and revenge, even covered as it was with charity.

So that morning, of course when she got to work she set up as she always did—as she always did before Jones came into the picture.

She took small amounts of funds where they wouldn’t be missed, took the small percentiles that would have been extras in her companies pockets and put it in her own, and felt a slow curl of satisfaction in her chest.

Jones played a good game, but he’d made it obvious even while holding his cards to his chest that he was looking for something—

And he wouldn’t get anything from Tyra if she didn’t put any chips on the table.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

The Knight was older than he had any right to be, and had had many lovers in his time, and so thought that the Prince could do better and did not want to hold him back. He did not want to hurt his Prince as he inevitably hurt all those he loved.

The Prince, knowing of the Knights staggering age, knew that his love would be one more added to lifetimes of caring, and certainly wouldn’t be the last, and so did not want to put undue pressure on the Knight. He knew of the tragedy of his Knight being a romantic soul, and thought that giving his care and keeping expectations to a minimal, then perhaps when the Prince one day died the Knight would maybe not experience so much sadness.

Neither thought to ask the other if there was hope for something more.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

When Ianto is running from Thugs next, he’s been killed twice already and tries to lose them in a park.

He’s small now; maybe 9, maybe younger, and he’d been turning into the park when he’d died last, so it was entirely possible that they hadn’t seen how old he was this time—not a risk he was _happy_ to take, but apparently Boss Man was sending out people with better track time to get him.

So maybe they didn’t know that he was a smaller target, maybe they would try looking up in the branches more than down in the bushes for him, maybe they’d be looking for the next building he’d be able to climb to see where he went, and hell, maybe Weevils would fly, but he didn’t have much of an option and he needed to catch his breath and grab a drink if he had the chance. So the park was where he went.

He’s in the underbrush, inconveniently trimmed as urban parks tended to be, and he’s certain that perhaps this is it, this was how he was going to be caught.

He’d give himself away with shifting bushes, or maybe his empty stomach would gurgle and grumble and draw attention, or maybe they did catch a glimpse of him, and would check the bushes, and there were a dozen other ways he’d likely give himself away, but at that moment he did his best to stay still and try to listen for any noise beyond the pounding of his heart.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a poke in his back and something pull on a lock of his hair, and probably would have run from cover right then if the little glowing figure didn’t from behind the small branches in front of him.

He’d like to say it was training or perhaps that he didn’t scare easily, but he could be honest with himself in this.

Faeries scared the _fuck_ out of him.

He doesn’t have time to react any more than that because heavily booted feet are pounding past him then, a second set following at a slower pace.

He lets out a small breath when they move out of sight, but doesn’t take another one until they’re out of earshot. Still strains his ears to hear them, because he knew there were buildings up ahead he could climb, and buildings behind him that he could limb with a little more difficulty, and they knew that… but they would also maybe think to check the forested area for him before checking the rooftops. He thought he should probably move. He thought if he left now, the Thugs were far enough away that he could reach the buildings, climb them, and likely at least be on the roof by the time the Thugs made their way back—

But there was a Faery in front of him, and likely one on his back from the feel of it, and yes, that was most definitely one playing with his hair…

Wind rustled the sparse leaves above him and he was suddenly very aware of the damp seeping through his pants legs, at the wrists of his jacket; he shivered, and pretended it was from the cold.

 ** _“Helloooooo,”_** the Faery in front of him said, drawing the word out, and keeping it whispery and thin as the winter wind.

 ** _“Hello Sneaky Boy…”_** came a voice right by his ear.

 ** _“Tricky, Tricky Boy…”_** said another, on his back.

The voices were whispery and secretive, like they knew that he was hiding and playing along. Ianto pursed his lips, and gave the one in front of him a worried look. If they thought it would be funny to reveal him…

But maybe he could…

He shifted slightly to raise a slightly muddy finger to his lips.

“Shh, I’m winning at hide and seek.”

He tried for nonchalance, but couldn’t keep from tensing when the sound of footsteps drew nearer again, steel-toed boots showing through the bottom of the brush he was in. His spine was a steel line, and he could feel the Faery on his back crawling on all limbs up his shoulder blade.

The glow. Would the Thugs see the glow around the Faeries? Could they see through the brush? He didn’t move his finger from his lips; hardly dared to breath as he watched the boots.

Shifted weight, turned, walked a short way one direction, then the other, the other Thug coming back and past (presumably to check the other buildings)…

If they’d just move on, if he could just…

Well, he would be able to focus entirely on the Faeries if he wasn’t freaking out about the Thugs. He wasn’t entirely sure they’d just let him go on his way if he tried…

He spared the Faery in front of him a glance; it’s tiny hands were clutched in front of it’s mouth, and it was crouching and moving silently to peer at the boots of the Thug sticking around. Like the host of a children’s show playing at being sneaky.

**CRACK—!**

He thought it was only the Faery on his back that kept him from jerking at the sound. It was loud, and attention drawing, and—and—

And it had the Thug moving towards it, away from Ianto. The Faeries made the hacking, gagging cough of a noise, the one he could see throwing it’s head back and turning to him with it’s razor sharp smile in place.

**_“Sneaky Little Boy…”_ **

**_“Funny Little Boy…”_ **

**_“Our Little Boy dies so much…”_ **

**_“So much Dying, so little Crying…”_ **

**_“Hiding from Who…?”_ **

**_“We Know, Ianto…”_ **

**_“We Knew, Yan-Too…”_ **

**_“Impossibly Unchosen…”_ **

**_“Impossibly Unaffected…”_ **

**_“Possibly Chosen…”_ **

**_“Possibly Broken…”_ **

**_“Yes or No…?”_ **

**_“Maybe So…?”_ **

**_“Shall We tell Him…?”_ **

**_“No! No!”_ **

**_“Spoilers!”_ **

**_“Yes, Spoilers!”_ **

More laughter. Ianto hated that laughter. Right then he was warring with annoyance and fear, because they knew who Boss Man was, and they were—

Ianto blinked, because the Faery in front of him was grinning and showing it’s sharp little teeth, it’s fangs, and it had it’s hands on his face.

**_“But Not Now…”_ **

**_“No, Now We’re Playing a Game…”_ **

**_“Hide and Seek, Hidden From Seekers…_ **

**_“We can help…”_ **

**_“Yes We Know Where to Hide you!”_ **

**_Yes, we know where no one will find you!_ **

There were branches closing over him from above, and roots pulling up from the ground to wrap around him, too quick, too strong, he couldn’t—

He felt panic bubbling up inside him

**_“We know where to Hide You…”_ **

**_“Yes, hidden from everyone!”_ **

**_“No one will find you, not ever!”_ **

Dirt rushed up past him, he had to close his eyes against the dirt, felt it close over his head, _oh god they were going to bury him alive_ , and he was falling—

Falling—

All the air was pushed from his lungs as he bounced, flower petals pushing in his face and he looked around to see he was in his Apartment. Lair. His Secret Base of Operations.

What?

**_“Wins! Our Little Boy Wins!”_ **

**_“Hide and Seek! Hide and Seek!”_ **

**_“Hidden from Seekers! Yes!”_ **

**_“No Followers…”_ **

**_“Yes Followers! Unknown Followers so much Fun…”_ **

**_“Little Girl, Little Boy, Little Boy too…”_ **

**_“The Father of Which is Looking for You…”_ **

**_“And Friends, Yes Friends! They Look for You Too!”_ **

**_“But Don’t Know, all Adrift…”_ **

**_“Should We give Him a lift?”_ **

**_“And a Fall! That’s All!”_ **

He scrambled from his bed, flower petals following him as they were dragged off his sheets, and the sound of their childish, off beat hacking cough-laugh faded into silence as he fought off the shakes moving through him.

The Faeries knew where he was living. Not a surprise, but threatening, alarming, distressing, made him so, so, so—

He sat down, pointedly on his petal-free couch, and placed his head between his knees.

Too much. Too much.

Too much muchness. Certainly too much rhyming.

Too Much Faeries.

Goddamn Faeries.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

He’d say they’d be the death of him, except—

Except—

_Fuck._

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

As mentioned before, both the Prince and the Knight were strange for their titles; one more practical than anyone born to Royalty had any right to be, and the other was all too un-Knightly in thought and action and belief, and perhaps this would answer why this was a story about a Knight and his Prince… but…

Perhaps not.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Tosh wrung her hands, tugged at her hair, straightened the papers on her desk, again, and fiddled with her nails. She tried to focus on this, on—oh, look, she should probably clean her nails. And she’d chipped one the previous night…

She pulled a nail file from her purse and cleaned them up, made sure they were all the same length, and…

She made a face, biting her lip.

She couldn’t keep her mind off of it.

But she couldn’t think of anything beyond it…

She’d gotten back to the apartment to find Owen already asleep, and had been anxious on the couch for… well, she didn’t know how long, but she fell asleep for part of it before waking up again.

The sun was only just making its way up from the horizon, and she couldn’t—

Staying at the apartment, at _Ianto’s_ apartment, wasn’t something she could deal with right then. But she couldn’t just wake Owen up, so she’d headed into work early. Because she might as well get work done if she wasn’t going to sleep, and she wasn’t going to sleep any time soon, but as soon as she got to the Hub she couldn’t…

So now all she could really do was wait for Owen to sow up, to ask him to check out the police file and say whether or not it meant that Ianto was—was dead.

Again.

Her eyes stung at the thought, because she didn’t think she could handle it. Didn’t think it was…

But it would explain why he hadn’t gotten back to them.

As far as they could tell—and a great part of this was gained from the information Ianto, or Not-Ianto, had gotten for them—was that roughly four months after the Thames House incident, all the adults who died from the gas reappeared in seemingly random places as much younger versions of themselves. Ones with all the memories of their older selves, just younger.

Well, all the adults save Jack.

(She was momentarily sidetracked by the thought of what Jack must’ve looked like when he was that young, before the thought of Jack brought her back to the fact that he was gone, brought her back to the thought of Ianto, brought her back to the thought of Ianto _dead_ —)

So it was safe, she thought, to assume that this would also include Ianto…

Ianto out there as a child, a small child, a small child with all the training of a Torchwood Agent and with the terrifying efficiency that was trademark to Ianto Jones.

They’d all wondered, once they found out about the Thames House Kids, why Ianto hadn’t made his way back to the Hub. Made his way back to Torchwood. To Gwen, at least. Tosh frowned.

Did Ianto even know that Jack was gone?

(If he was alive, that is…)

But if she was reading the police report right… well, Ianto wouldn’t be able to get back to them even if he tried.

Because if he wans’t—wasn’t—

Then he was being… held. Somewhere.

Someone had him.

If he was alive, someone had him, and was hurting him, or someone once had him, because Ianto was efficient and organized, and he’d find some way to escape, wouldn’t he? Of course he would. He was Ianto Jones.

What else would he—

He’d be dead.

She looked around for a box of tissues, found it, found it empty, and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.

~~(Ianto would’ve made sure the tissue was restocked)~~

Of course it’s at that point that the new entrance to the Hub would slide open, the old alarm for the door absent due to the unanimous agreement of how annoying it was, and for Owen to walk in.

 She turned away from him, blinking and trying to control herself, because she should be done with—

It’d been _months_ —

And he wasn’t even—

Except that no, she’d found out that her best friend had died, and then that he might not actually really be dead, only missing, and now she had to face the possibility that he was dead _again_ , and without even—

She shook her head, and ignored the fact that Owen most definitely knew she’d been crying, or close to it, and took a deep breath.

“O-Owen, could you just.” She swallowed, cleared her throat. Gestured him over to the screen and focusing too hard on the keyboard in front of her. “Yeah, um, could you just, look at this please—the blood, it’s just.” She stopped. All the saliva in her mouth dried up, her throat dry, and she decided that yup, she needed water. Yup. Water.

She moved out of the way for Owen to get at her seat, and set about to find water.

Not coffee, not tea.

Water.

She avoided the kitchen area, with it’s coffee machine and mugs and veered to where she thought they’d put a large pack of bottled water.

She heard Owen mutter to himself as he read, and knew she should probably just tell him what to focus on—he was probably reading it with the same thoughts as she’d had, that the report had something to do with an alien, or else with something else Torchwood related…

And it was.

Just—

Owen went silent.

“The _fuck_?”

She cracked open a bottle and downed a third of it, another, and grabbed another bottle before turning back to him.

“Yeah, um, it’s a, uh, it’s something. Isn’t it.” She wanted to make it into a question, but didn’t quite manage it.

“This is at _least_ 10 quarts of blood here.”

He said this like it should mean something to her, and her throat closed up again. She thought the only thing that kept her from getting angry or frustrated with him was how baffled he sounded right then.  
“And that’s—what does that mean?”

Owen turned back to the computer, and read through the blood reports again, went through the pictures.

“See, here,” he pulled up a wide shot, one that got most of the… stain in the shot.

“There is at least 10 quarts of blood here, and with the time line given… okay, the average human body has around 4-5 quarts of blood, averaging about 10 pints.” He turned to another picture, frowning. More blood at a different angle.

“More or less, I mean. Different heights, different weights… it means there’s room for error. But that’s an average adult. The test results here are saying all this is Ianto’s but…” he turned to her, eyebrows raised.

“But… but Ianto should be a child…” Tosh finished for him, mind turning to the numbers of the situation.

There was twice as much blood as an adult male would be able to hold naturally at the scene, four times as much as a child would be able to hold… all of it Ianto’s…

“Exactly. A child has about 7 pints in them, little more than 3 quarts, and without a transfusion it takes little over a month for someone to recover from losing, say, two pints.”

The calculations were aligning in her mind, then, a month for every two pints, with how long Ianto would have been a child…

Oh.

“… And a person can survive on… how many pints of blood?”

“You can survive up to 40% blood loss without risking circulatory failure. And that’s cutting it close. And without a transfusion…”

Tosh felt her knees go weak, and caught herself on the edge of a table. But this… but it was…

“We should probably tell Gwen about this…” her head felt stuffed full and hollow, all at once, and she didn’t recognize her own voice.

Owen sighed, and sat back in his chair.

“She shouldn’t be dealing with so much stress right now… fuckin’ hell…”

He sighed and scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

Tosh understood, she really did, but she was at a loss here, and it looked like Owen was, too.

They needed Jack.

But he was gone, and they were on their own right then, and they had to rely on each other.

They sat in silence for a long time, before heading for the door.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

One day there is a threat to the kingdom, and the Prince is reminded once again of his obligation. It is an unneeded one.

The Knight is reminded that he is not just bound to protect his kingdom, but also his Prince, and so is with him with a select few individuals as the other Knights ride to battle.

It is for this reason that he feels particularly responsible for the death of the Prince, heart aching from his Prince’s last confession of love, and so soon rides off into the sunset for some sort of distraction.

For he is a Knight, and he is noble, but his heart is crushed and his loyalty was only ever truly with his Prince…

He contemplates what his Prince would have wanted, but that thought process leads to thoughts on his own unvoiced confession, and so that sort of contemplation is drowned out through several pints of spirits and worn down in several dozen beds spread through far away kingdoms.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto laughed into the pillow he was using as a headrest.

Ah, YouTube…

He’d never really felt the need to spend any more time than needed on a computer, and certainly not on YouTube… the hours in a day not devoted to Torchwood were turned towards movies he knew he liked, or books he knew he liked…

Tosh had brought a number of new movies into his life, as well as a couple of books she’d enjoyed, but for the most part once Ianto got home he was tired. Tired, and interested in something entertaining that wouldn’t require much thought.

He clicked the next video that caught his eye, this one a short clip of a sloth being carried to the other side of a street.

As soon as it was lifted, its arms went out wide, and whoever uploaded the video added dramatic music, and he laughed.

Silly Sloth.

Not to say this required any thought process—in fact, it required so little thought he knew he should be moving to do something else, something productive, but then he finds a video with a teenaged girl ranting about… something, and he spends the next hour feeling slightly less like he’s done nothing by looking up all he can on the subject. 

No, this didn’t require much thought at all, and when he finds a ‘vlogger’ he immerses himself into their channel, going to the other vloggers he suggests, and then on from there, and has a brief moment of inspiration—

 _He_ could start his own YouTube channel!

Well, he could, but he wouldn’t.

He had unique experiences to share, had interesting things to talk about, knew how to be political with his opinions, and he was immensely private.

So no.

The sense of community that these vloggers were getting from making their videos was interesting, was _attractive_ , but no.

He briefly thinks about writing a blog instead, because it would 1, keep his face (repeatedly _changing_ face) from the Internet, would 2, not be traceable to him, and so would keep Boss Man and anyone else looking from him from finding him…

And 3, it would give him something to do when he wasn’t watching cats fall off things.

He turned his head to look at the box of kittens sleepily tumbling over each other, Jackie licking them and looking every inch the satisfied mommy cat she was.

Besides, he could watch kittens being cute and cats falling off things _here_. 

Before he’s had any time to think it through much further, he’s looking into blogging sites and domain names and debating the merits of buying his own site…

He blinked.

Was he actually considering this?

Really and truly? It actually seemed like it was equally a good and bad idea…

Well, he had experience in writing in his diary, and he certainly wasn’t going to go and reveal important, sensitive information…

He looks down at the keyboard, wondering.

But what would his sites name be?

He considered the conventional e-mail choices, usually some mix of a thought or of names, or a mix of first and last name for a professional e-mail. And he thought this blog thing would be professional.

Well, he thought people also used amusing anecdotes and monikers, but he didn’t—

He made a face.

He didn’t really want…

First impressions were important, and he thought it would be considered important here, on the Internet, as well.

He could, he supposed, change it at some point, but he didn’t start things intending to stop halfway. Or change things in the middle.

So perhaps Jones? He certainly wasn’t going to use his first name, what with the ridiculous buzz that still lingered over his and Jack’s deaths.

So maybe…

He typed it out, considered it, changed the first initial to lowercase for contrast and thought it would do.

iJones.com would be getting its first post in a moment.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Elsewhere, there is a figure spending his off time looking up certain things in his spare time.

He does it with flair, with the sense of a man imagining himself in a movie, with the distinct lack of shame that was trademark to people who thought they were doing something _so freaking cool_ right then.

And he is doing something cool, if not entirely legal, but he means no harm.

Not really.

He’s just looking for…

No.

What?

Really?  
Hank grinned to himself, thinking that Jones really had a sense of humor here. The grin dulled slightly, when it occurred to him that for Jones to set this up he would have to know they were looking for him, had to know at least part of their plans, and that…

Well. It was still freaking awesome, is what it was, but also a bit eerie.

Creepy.

Very _I Know What You Did Last Summer_ , but like the side edition called _I Know What You Talked About At The Bakery_.

Awesome and creepy and eerie and cool, all things that described Jones…

He pulled up his private, _private_ e-mail, and sent the link to Eunice. Sent it to _her_ super secret e-mail he’d helped her set up.

 

 **To** : eBake@jones.co.uk

 **From** : hm@jones.co.uk

 **Subject** : We’ve Been Outed!

**Message:**

_The Great and Powerful Oz sees all and knows all!!!!!!!!_

_ [LINK] _

HM

_P.S. Same place and time next Saturday? Need to meet up._

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

What the Knight wasn’t to know was that the Prince was not dead, and so this is where the running truly starts.

The Knight runs away from all that might remind him of his Prince, the Prince runs to where he hopes he might be able to make contact with his Knight, the Kingdom runs in what it hopes to be the right direction, and all in all, while everyone waits for the moment that the Knight and his Prince might be reunited…

The running is still the best part.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Gwen frowned over the information, rubbing a hand absently over her stomach.

“Could whoever has Ianto be giving him transfusions?”

Owen shook his head.

“Not that much… at that point it’d be showing other people’s DNA, but the tests show it’s all Ianto’s, and it looks like all of it was given in less than a month.”

A tiny foot (she thought) to her kidney had her wincing as she looked to Tosh.

“Have you reviewed the CCTV footage of the area yet?” She gave a reassuring smile when Tosh blinked, startled, and shook her head. She shifted on the bed (damn bed rest, damn bed rest, damn it damn it damn it!), and thought she could understand what was happening with Tosh right then…

It was distressing to think of Ianto in such a harsh situation—harder still to even consider the fact that even as they speak he could be getting tortured, and Gwen thought Ianto and her had gotten close in the time between Tosh and Owen’s death and… well, Ianto’s death, but in the time she’d had to deal with the thought of Ianto maybe being dead, or being tortured, or being… anything, having to trust him and trust Jack and trust that things would work out for the best, and she had to trust Ianto now.

She had to trust that she would be able to help him if he hadn’t already helped himself, and she’d be able to help him the most by keeping a level head.

And Tosh… Tosh had been through quite a bit these last few months, and if they had the time for it, as soon as Tosh and Owen showed up what should have happened was a few months leave, quite a bit of therapy, and a calm, relaxed atmosphere for Tosh and Owen to be able to come to terms with all the changed in their lives…

But they didn’t have the time, or the resources to do that.

So she could understand that Tosh wasn’t thinking clearly, that Owen wasn't either (else he would have suggested it to her earlier), and that was why Tosh, Queen of the Tech of Torchwood, hadn’t thought to check the cameras around the building.

“Right, I can, I can get right on…”

“Good. Stay a moment longer though… Owen, do you have any theories on how so much blood came to be there?”

“It’s possible it’s some sort of bloody alien tech making it so that blood loss isn’t a problem… but anything outside of that is just…” he trailed off, scowling.

“Fuckin’ hell… If Jonesey’s going by the average size of a, say, 10-year-old, there’s about three times as much blood as there should be decorating the place. At about 7 pints, he can lose, at most, 3 pints before risking his circulation, which is something we can’t rely on because as far as we know the bastards who’ve got him aren’t interested in him being able to walk or talk or do fuck all. Give about 2 months for him to be healthy again, and you can take another 3 before having to wait again.

If they got him right from the get go, for him to still be, well, functioning, the most blood they’d likely be able to get from him by now is still only half as much as fucking there and it doesn’t make a bit of fucking sense!”

“And we don’t know if Ianto was even there with them for the entire time… evidence says that he was there a couple of months ago, and he’s certainly not there now. The blood isn’t fresh, and…” Tosh bit her lip, and Gwen waited her out, practicing her breathing exercises.

One thing about this being ridiculously pregnant thing, is that going to the pre-natal groups has done amazing things for her patience, and ability to not get frustrated with people.

She’d have gotten upset with Rhys well before this, otherwise, with how obviously relieved he’s been when her tantrums petered out…

(she still had them, knew when she was being ‘horomonal’, but they happened much less nowadays. Good thing, too, since otherwise shed be in a perpetual state of frustration at being bedridden while Tosh and Owen were doing all the legwork.

There was a _reason_ she’d not chosen an office job.)

Tosh seemed to figure out what she was going to say.

“I… I still think it was Ianto who gave us that information on the Thames House Children, but I think we should be prepared for the possibility that it wasn’t. Because if it wasn’t…”

“Fuck.”

Gwen had actually forgotten about that; the file that had mysteriously shown up on their servers with all the information they wanted on the people who’d ‘died’ in Thames House, and the accepted theory on it being from Ianto….

She frowned. But if it wasn’t Ianto… That meant that someone had hacked into Torchwood’s servers. Her lips thinned. She didn’t like the possibility.

“Oof!”

Another kick, or maybe a punch, this one much harder than the last, much more abrupt, and that called in the cavalry.

Well, Rhys.

She tried to protest when he started to usher Owen and Tosh out of the bedroom, made much less effective when she yawned midway through.

“Tosh, look over the CCTV tapes! And Owen, get the blood samples from the police! They might give you an idea of what’s going on!”

They called back a general sound of agreement, and Gwen heard the low rumble of Rhys’ voice as he bid them farewell.

She waited for him to make his way back upstairs, ready to give him a tongue lashing—she was pregnant, not an invalid! She could _talk_ about work without a problem! He needed to save the babying for the actual baby, is what he needed to do.

And she would have told him as much, too, except that when he got back to the room she’d already fallen asleep.

Carefully shifting the pillows out from their stack behind her, he pulled the blankets up round her and went to get a healthy snack ready for her when she woke up.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Thinking of things, in this storybook way, you might imagine that perhaps the Knight finds his way back to his Prince, or perhaps some outside influence would come and make things right…

And you’d be correct, in a fashion.

Because there is a Healer and a Magician working to find their prince and their Knight, and a Matron doing her best while pregnant to oversee them, and outside of that there is also a Mercenary who might eventually make his way to either or both the Knight and Prince, a small band of Merry Man-and-Women actively searching for someone very like the Prince, and also a Villain who might bring about the Knight and his Prince reuniting…

But these are all only possibilities.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Jack rolled from a mass of limbs, and patted the nearest one fondly.

He appreciated any and every form, and admired the range of motion certain forms could carry out, but by far the Gregori’laxons knew how to take advantage.

Then again, he thought, he’d probably take full advantage of it himself if he had that many limbs. So much _sensation_!

His smile turned brittle around the edges as he left the antechamber, moans of the other half-dozen recruited to help Bessy (or Bess’angroth’yar if you preferred) let loose some tension… there was still a hollow point inside of him.

He’d hoped that it would lessen somewhat with Bessy, because if you wanted to feel filled you went to the Gregori’laxi, but there was still…

He imagines a perfectly wry eyebrow rising, a small smirk teasing around the edges of a soft mouth, and a voice rolling with Welsh vowels asking him… asking him…

Just the thought of those rolling tones had his heart aching and loins stirring guiltily.

He shook his head to clear the thoughts, and flexed to assess the damage.

Huh, none, really… Ah. Right, he’d died. He was in half a mind to be annoyed at his tendency to be all healed up after dying, except it was usually a useful thing.

You also went to the Gregori’laxi if you weren’t afraid of the possibility of death through coitus, and were willing to put it in writing to fend off the lawsuits.

The empty space yawned behind his ribs, and he turned around to make his way back to Bessy.

Maybe he wasn’t feeling filled because he’d recovered from it already?

Best way to find out was to go back.

Bessy made a happy noise when he struts back into the fray, and he let his clothing be tugged and ripped off.

He’d just have to keep coming back until he felt less hollow.

“Miss me, gorgeous?”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Perhaps the Matron, Healer, and Magician might find their Prince and find some way to contact their Knight. Perhaps the Mercenary or Villain might bring them together.

Perhaps, even, the small band of Merry Man-and-Women might find the Prince while searching for their much like the Prince not-Prince.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, but there is one figure who might be able to fix this all with one swish of his magic wand. Find the Prince, answer all his questions of why and how and what’s happening, bring his Knight back, allow them all to live happily ever after and all that….

But this figure, let’s call him a Fairy Godfather, is off elsewhere. He’s off with his granddaughter and her two teachers exploring the universe, but also distilling the Human Essence and testing the trust of his assistants, and also saving the universe from a race of giant spiders called the Eight Legs, and is also in the 1880’s saving London from a ventriloquist dummy-cum-murderer, and far away being poisoned on Adrozani Minor while also searching for Zeiton-7 on Varos, and protecting Gallifreyan secrets in 1963 London, and also having his memory erased by the Master, and also doing some very un-Doctor like things he chooses to forget, and also travelling with Rose and being asked “Are you my Mummy?” and really, with a Fairy Godfather so busy…

Is it any wonder that he’s not had the time to make his way to the Knight and his Prince?

He will, eventually, after quite a bit of timey-wimey wibbly-wobbly stuff happens, and a stop to grab a snack of fish sticks and custard, and may perhaps even in time to wave his magic wand and fix everything and answer all the questions, but it is only one of the many, many possibilities.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto frowned at the screen. He didn’t know why Mainframe had brought it to his attention—it wasn’t something he’d set up, and he’d honestly forgotten about them, so why…

He checked into their financials, all three of them, and saw that two of the three had stopped… but one has started up again.

Had something happened?

When he’d been trying to figure out how he would be able to pay for food and clothing, and general amnesties, he’d decided that pick pocketing had too much risk…

But stealing from embezzlers, well, that was fair game.

(So to speak.)

Mainframe had pulled up, from the parameters he’d set, the embezzlers most profitable to take from, but three of the rough dozen pulled up, he could see had reason. And, damn his bleeding heart, he’d decided that instead of stealing from them, he’d just have to help them out.

And after he’d started taking the .5% interest from banking interests, he certainly had the means to do so.

Out of morbid curiosity, he checked his banking status and felt his eyebrows raise.

Well then.

(He briefly considered retiring, thought about how bored he’d be without a regular threat to his health and sanity, and thought about how much therapy he’d have to go through to be able to retire without going stir crazy)

(At least he’d be able to afford it)

So he’d looked into their situations, and donated some cash and sent what he’d thought to be a polite and courteous message that outlined something along the lines of ‘ _you don’t have to embezzle any longer, and if you continue to do so you won’t just be ruining your life, so please stop_ ’ with the subtext of ‘ _here’s money, stop stealing it_ ’ and a good dash of paranoia inducing ‘if I could find you, anyone could…’ and…

Well.

He thought he’d given enough for them to be comfortable even if a financial problem came up beyond their original problems, and yet here she was…

He had Mainframe pull up any changes in her life and… nope. No. No. No… Nothing.

Ianto was seeing absolutely nothing that would cause her to need more money. Her Aunt’s medical bills are paid for, with regular installments so that she could live in comfortable conditions… No relatives have popped up needing physical therapy; she doesn’t have kids; no payments for pregnancy tests (and wasn’t it a bit creepy that Mainframe could find this out?) so no children on the way…

The money she’s been taking doesn’t seem to be _going_ anywhere, either, and there’s no evidence to say that she’s found her way into any sort of shady dealings, or extreme debt…

(He kept in mind that everyone was in debt in one way or another, and that not everyone had his sense of mind to avoid such debt-inducing situations)

Ianto sat back and frowned.

He’d never met the woman, had never had the chance to interact with Tyra Shaw, but from what he could tell form her records she wasn’t the sort of person to embezzle to pack her own pockets.

Perhaps she was looking to do something for herself, now that she didn’t have to worry about her Great Aunt’s medical bills?

He shook his head. No, no, that didn’t make sense either. If she cut down her current hours by a third, she would still be making more than enough to live a healthy, wealthy lifestyle.

She wasn’t poor by any stretch of imagination, and yet she’s hoarding embezzled money, just saving it away and while Ianto could see the merit in that, it wasn’t something that you did. It wants’ something that what he’d seen of her moral character would allow. And tat gap in embezzling… Something must have occurred to her in the time between when she’d stopped embezzling to when she’d started up again. But he couldn’t _see_ anything.

There wasn’t anything to find!

He broadened Mainframes search parameters, looking for any sort of alternative identity, or side project, or private investment, looked for any reason as to why she would be saving up money like this.

Her car was bought last year, so not likely, and he house is well loved and kept, and the reasons were _eluding_ him. He ran his fingers through his hair, and straightened his cuffs.

So why…?

Mainframe beeped at him for attention, pulling his thoughts to the report she pulled on one of the warehouses that may hold a hard copy of his time at The Shooting Range, and he cast one last look at the file on Tyra Shaw.

Looked at her address.

She didn’t live all that far away, actually…

As he turned his attention fully on the situation with Boss Man, he thought he’d have to pay Tyra Shaw a visit when he had the time.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

But until then, our Knight is off mourning his Prince, the Prince is off trying to figure things out, and everyone else is, in one way or another, searching for both.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Eunice looked at Hank from over her latte, an eyebrow raised.

“Are you sure it’s him though? It seems a bit… obvious.”

She couldn’t help but make a face, because honestly? Jones setting up a blog was a baffling enough thought (because, try as she might she couldn’t get past the thought that only angsty teenaged girls actually _blogged_ ), but to go on and name it iJones?

Hank beamed at her, fairly wiggling in delight where he was seated.

“Exactly! It’s obvious enough that no one would suspect it! And here—look;” he pulled out his phone, pulling up the first page of the blog, “he’s saying he doesn’t have many _expectations_ for this blog but is interested in seeing where it’s going… He’s interested! _We_ caught his interest! That’s fantastic! And now we can show him that we can totally handle anything he throws at us!”

“And how, exactly, are we going to know he’s throwing anything at us? We’ve hit a dead end just about everywhere in looking for this guy!”

The smile he threw her was half a watt short of blinding.

“No, you see, this is where it’s brilliant.” He downed the rest of his coffee with a grin, and tapped his phone.

“No, you see, it’s brilliant this way! All we have to do is wait for him to update his site. And we’re in.”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to RandomPersonOfDoom, my nearest and dearest podbuddy, and now onto notes about the actual story.  
> I have most of chapter 2 written out (would be all, but I had a plot thought when I was nearly done this chapter--appreciate it! It took forever to write!), and a great deal of 3, but I *should* (a tentative should) have the next chapter out next week.  
> A reminder that all my chapters are about 10k in length (9736 for this chapter), so you won't have to deal with any 'but it doesn't *feel* done' waffling about. It's done when it's reached the upper lip of 9000, or has gone to or beyond 10k.  
> Hope you all enjoyed the first chapter, and look forward to the next :)  
> Tell me what you think :D  
> Also, JACK!


	2. Hurricane Drunk by Florence and the Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EACH CHAPTER IS (about)10K. Patience for the next chapter… or not.  
> See? I got this out just about on time. Ish. I said the weekend. What? You say it *is* the weekend? Since when do authors ever update when they say they will…?  
> Major notes at the bottom, and most of it is thank you’s, but a great deal of it is story notes and part of it is me reassuring you that this will STAY a story about Ianto.  
> Alternative title song is “Kiss with a fist” by Florence and the Machine  
> ENJOY!  
> (And Kudos to Fionrose for post-posting correcting me on High School vs Secondary School and the UK/Wales schooling system :D THANK YOU!)

 

Ianto stared out at the expanse of Cardiff and thought that rooftop entrances should be guarded more closely.

Shouldn’t be so easy to get at.

The doors, at least, should have better locks than they did, and Ianto could name a good dozen security systems that wouldn’t be so easy to turn off.

He sighed, sad for more reasons than shit security.

He kicked a pebble over the edge of the roof, listened for it hitting the ground several stories down…

Nothing.

Well of course he doesn’t hear it. It was a small pebble, hardly made a sound in skittering over the edge, so it would hardly make enough landing noise to reach him up here.

It hit the ground, rolled, went over the edge and, he thought, would have the most freedom any pebble could hope to have before it hit the ground and then…

Well.

He moved to the edge; looked down.

He would most definitely break something if he fell from this distance.

Probably his neck.

He would rupture something, maybe, but in any case he would die of shock even if he only broke a leg, or arm.

He looked down at his feet.

Actually, he could probably break both of his legs, if he jumped right.

He briefly contemplated the possible differences in splatter formation if he were to swan dive from the edge versus falling backwards…

Contemplated it…

Thought that Jack could probably tell him.

But Jack was gone. Couldn’t ask him anything.

Ianto looked up, and had never felt so resentful of the stars.

(“ _Give him back!_ ” he wanted to shout, but that was silly.)

He looked back down, the ground so far away, and thought _yes, jumping from this height would definitely kill me if I did it right._

He sighed, and thought of the pebble.

Turned and headed for the roof’s exit, numb.

(He hated symbolism.)

He was like the pebble. Hit the ground, rolled, went over the edge and, he thought, would have the most freedom any pebble could hope to have before it hit the ground and then…

_(Hate Hate Hate Hate Hate.)_

Well, he would hit, splatter, and then walk away, rolling for the next edge to fall off.

Only he would be hungrier, afterwards.

He thought about having to go grocery shopping again…

It really wasn’t worth it.

He gave one last glance to the sunrise before shutting the door behind him with a sigh.

What a way to say hello to a brand new day.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

It got even better when, once back to his Lair, he found that Jakie had found time to get him a present.

He sighed, and looked at the small form at the foot of his bed.

Well, at least it wasn’t at the head of it…

Ianto ignored the glare he got from Jackie when he carefully picked the dead rat up by its tail, and moved it to the trash.

Winced when its intestines rolled out from its belly, and thought that it was good that he was used to cleaning up gory messes.

He wasn’t even upset that Jackie refused any offered petting for the next hour.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

There were a grand total of 16 locations the hard copies of his time in the Shooting Range could be, 11 of which were in Wales.

One location WAS the Shooting Range.

The remaining 4 were in London.

Ianto sighed and thought he’d have to wait until he looked older than 17 at the least before hitting those.

~~(He wondered why he even had to do this…)~~

He wondered if Gwen had had her baby yet. He could probably check hospital records…

He wondered if Rhys was helping her out with Torchwood… He hadn’t been able to find the files of new members, but if he remembered correctly (always a worry, now that he had time to contemplate that his brain was remade every time he died), she’d never been as comfortable with the systems as the rest of the team.

Oh, he didn’t fault her ability to use the search functions; she could find out everything about a person within a few days, and most everything about a company within a few weeks.

But putting in an order for supplies? No. Instead she let him know when there was need for another order of something, and Ianto would make note.

Setting up the account information for new members is about the same difficulty, and there had been no need to show her in all the time she’d been part of Torchwood.

Ianto briefly wondered if he would have ever gotten around to teaching her how, as Jack had always been… resistant towards getting new members.

Ianto thought that maybe it was because Jack had to see people around him changing while he stayed the same, That the rest of the world was moving forward and he was along for the ride but _stuck_ —

He thought that maybe he was wary of turning into another Torchwood One, with too many members to keep an eye on and too much going on at one for Jack to keep a handle on what was safe and what wasn’t.

Jack did like having a hand in everything…

(Except now he was gone, didn’t have a hand in anything, and bugger it Ianto wanted to just settle down and decide if he was more angry at Jack for going or being sad that Jack was gone, because these emotional swoops and turns were _exhausting_ )

But it could be any number of things.

A small chime draws his attention back to the present, and he pulls the USB from its port.

He’d had to log in with Mainframe to get across what he was looking for, but he thought Mainframe had come through for him. The program that Mainframe had put on this USB should get as much closed off information from the computer networks as possible, sending it to Mainframe, and hopefully narrowing down his search for the Hard Copy. There was a lot one could do to get information while staying on your own computer and in your own system, but there are some things that don’t quite transfer over.

He could, conceivably, bring Mini with him, but just the thought of damaging or losing or, oh gods, what if he was caught—

Ianto thought a USB would be easier. With Mini working from his computers here, the USB would create a one-way link from Mini to Boss Man’s computer systems.

He pocketed the USB and thought that if he was lucky, there would only be the one hard drive.

If not, he would have to look for multiple ones… hell, if he wasn’t careful, Boss Man would know he was going for the hard drives, and would make more of them. Or else move it/them to locations he’d already searched…

He shook his head.

No. Pessimistic thoughts later. He pulled up the layout of the nearest, and most fruitful seeming hideout, and set about figuring out how he would get in and out.

This would require some thought, especially if he wanted to stay as covert about it as possible.

(he wondered if Mini would be able to find out what Boss Man’s name was, because while he thought that he would always be Boss Man to him, it would be good to put a name to the face. It would be good to put a background check to it, too.)

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Tosh finally found the footage she was looking with the correct timestamps and location, and was watching the first few minutes of it when it gets cut off.

Frowning, she checked the servers and tried again… and the footage was cut off again.

Someone had tried to delete the footage.

A grim smile in place, she set about digging up the original file… because the thing about someone _trying_ to delete anything on a server like this was that the whole of it was never really deleted. Hundreds of different locations connected with the CCTV networks, and that was only including the publicly acknowledged, and there was always a trace of one part or another… and with a network this big, the entire thing was out there.

Just scattered.

Tosh had never managed to take up sewing like her mother had wanted her to learn, much too distracted by the opportunities she saw in technology, but she could patch together whole tapestries of information without missing a stitch, without showing a single seam. If she could actually explain it to her mother, she knew she’d be proud.

(Confused, yes, but proud.)

While pulling all the remnants together, she wondered at who had done this; wondered if it was the same people who’d held Ianto and… well.

With that incentive, she thought she’d never hacked into a system with such ferocity. She kept finding traces of the people who had tried to cover their tracks, and set up a program to store the information… she would have to find them sooner rather than later, but finding the people who’d made Ianto bleed was second to actually finding Ianto.

Finding out if Ianto was still _alive_.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto rubbed at his eyes, feeling the budding headache at the backs of his eyes unfurl.

While the systems in the warehouse would be easy to access once inside, and the security system, while hard to get past, would be easy to shut down, there was a problem with how to get in.

All the areas that were made for entrance were heavily monitored, and the less conventional entry routes were covered as well.

He thought that perhaps Mainframe would be able to hack into their systems, but their security network was a monitored closed circuit. Anything added and it would be setting off alarms.

If Ianto could get close enough to one of the cameras he could connect Mainframe to the system that way, using the USB, and she’d be able to replace that camera in the system…

But he’d have to get close enough to do it.

And he’d probably have, at _most_ , fifteen minutes to get in and out before Mainframe would be detected. Twenty tops.

Depending on their systems, 5-10 minutes for Mainframe to get in and create the link, and that left a very small window of opportunity, and this wasn’t even taking the number of Thugs around at any time.

If he could create a distraction, he might be able to… But he had very few distractions up his sleeve that _wouldn’t_ alert them to the fact that someone was breaking in, or _had_ broken in…

Ianto sighed.

He’d been working on this for much too long.

He needed to find something else to focus on.

Ianto briefly considered going for a walk—but no. Thugs had been wandering around his area lately; it would be best not to risk it.

(He needed something less _deadly_ to focus on.)

He leaned back in his chair and looked back at his kitchen… no. He wasn’t really hungry. And he’d cleaned when he’d brought in groceries earlier that week.

He debated taking a nap, but that would mess up his sleeping schedule, and since when had he ever had trouble finding something else to do? He didn’t feel like reading, or watching a movie, and he needed to not be focusing on breaking into one of Boss Man’s warehouses, and—

Blog. He’d write for his blog. He was on his own right now, he wanted to do something, and he would—blog. Yes.

Right.

What did people write about?

Ianto blanked. His last post (his _first_ post) had been about starting a blog, and now he was…

… What did people _do_?

There was a hollow _thuk_ behind him, the kittens had gotten into a tussle with each other and had knocked into the side of the cardboard box. Ianto’s eyes lit up.

Cats! The Internet _loved_ cats!

Ianto pulled up his site and started in on a new post.

He’d talk about how Jack turned into Jackie, what was happening with the kittens so far… and probably mention something about the dead rat she’d gifted him earlier that morning.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

“AH!”

Hank didn’t even care about the looks he got from that, instead opening the link to iJones’ new post and eagerly reading.

He finished reading it with a smile before realizing that it didn’t read like Jones giving them something to do. It read like someone who didn’t know very much about cats and found himself with kittens, and then had gone on a small and fairly cohesive tangent on what transgendered must go through.

He was disappointed for a moment, before grinning.

 _Oh Jones, you are_ brilliant _!_

He quickly typed out a quick message to Eunice, and started looking into _everything_ that was mentioned.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

The next time Ianto dies is frustrating, because it isn’t because of something _he_ did, and it isn’t because of Thugs (though _that_ at least is a relief), but because some drunk prick decides to take the same backstreets home as Ianto is.

He’s never been in a car accident; has never been hit by a car before, either. Doesn’t like the experience. Doesn’t like that all he hears from the driver is a cuss and then the sound of him driving away.

Damn drunk drivers…

He manages to catch a glimpse of the guy’s plates before waking up with a cough, and is determined to call the guy in to the police.

“Watch where you’re going, you _odinebwr defaid!_ ”

He shook his head, pissed off and frustrated, and now he really needed to get back and get himself some food…

Fucking drunk drivers…

Thinking of this as he was, by the time he scrabbles up the ladder and has eaten, he’s registered the fact that he’s no longer looking like a child, and that yeah, fuck it, he’s getting sloshed tonight.

Because _fuck drunk drivers_.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Eunice stared at him, skeptical.

“You still think that this blog is Jones’?” Hank nodded. Eunice shook her head.

“No, seriously, you said we should look into his blog, and we did, and we waited for another post, and we did… and we got a post about cats. And you think this is from Jones?”

“No, no, no, see, that’s where it’s brilliance comes through! See, it’s not actually a blog about cats.” He stared at her intently, waiting… she sighed.

“It’s not?”

“Noooo…. He _wants_ you to think it’s about cats. When really, he makes mention to, like, a _dozen_ other things! We should be looking into those instead!”

“Really.”

“Yep.” Hank grinned happily at her. “Like, okay, look at it this way. He could be talking about how he actually managed to not notice the lack of fuzzy balls on his decidedly female cat, _or_ ,” he emphasized, pausing a moment to blink once, deliberately, at her, “he could want us to look into transvestites or tranny’s or cross-dresses… A bit of a stretch, I know, but that’s what makes it brilliant. He _could_ be talking about how difficult it is to manage a bunch of kittens, and how he hadn’t even wanted the one cat, _or_ ,” he paused again to blink deliberately at her, “he could be saying that he hadn’t intended on giving us any notice, we might be too troublesome, but is giving us a chance!”

“I thought his ‘giving us a chance’ note was in the first blog post.”

“Well now apparently we’ve upgraded to kittens. See how that works? He knows we know, and now we know he knows we know, and now we’re _kittens_.” He blinks once again at her, again in that deliberate way, and Eunice realizes with some dawning horror that he’s trying to wink. And failing. Horribly at it.

“Oh my god are you trying to _wink at me_?”

He frowns. “Hey, I _am_ winking.”

“No, you aren’t _winking_ , you are _blinking_ , albeit very deliberately. There’s a difference.”

He shook his head, waving a hand as if to brush her words away.

“ _That is not the point_! The point here is that we have a chance to show Jones that he should _totally keep his kittens_. We have to look into this, find what it is, and in the next post he’ll, I dunno, give us our marks, level us up, give us some sort of a thumbs up or down! C’mon, we have to _try_!”

She shook her head, but had to smile at his enthusiasm.

“Okay, how about you find out what Jones is looking for—hey, _hey_ , _you’re_ the one with all the theories, _I’m_ still only seeing a blog about kittens—and if you find anything relevant send it my way and Ill make sure it goes to where it’ll do the most good. Okay?”

Hank pouted, obviously put out that she was just humoring him, but nodded.

“Fine.”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto was a couple of streets away from his place—and wasn’t that a lark, calling it his place? He was just the only one to go into it for the last couple of years, the only one to reach the entrance on the roof—with a case of cheap beers beside him, half of them empty. He’d died recently, and woken up hungry and about 18 or 19 (he was getting better at estimating his age, but he was still a bit iffy with his younger years), and there had been an unguarded truck with a shipment to the Drink Finder’s Warehouse ** _,_** and Ianto had taken advantage. No wine, but he managed to get two cases of beer and used one of the machines locked in the warehouse to pull one of the crates out and hidden with hardly any issue.

It had taken a couple of trips, but he’d gotten a fair collection of brandy, whiskey, rum, and liquor to his Hub-Away-From-Hub.

It had seemed more important at the time to have a stock of alcohol, and while he didn’t drink it when he was in a younger body (it didn’t seem like much carried over when he died, but he didn’t want to take chances), he liked having the option.

Lately, it seemed like he needed it, and as he was in a more-legal body for it, and in a neighborhood where it didn’t much matter if you were out and about when you were drinking, well…

So he’d taken a case, climbed with it carefully down the ladder on the fire escape (remembering to push the rusty ladder back up and out of reach; even drunk, he’d be able to get to it, but he’d left the door unlocked on the roof), and here he was.

Ianto wasn’t entirely drunk yet, but he was getting there.

Well, he was actually probably more drunk than he thought he was, considering he hadn’t moved from where he was sitting for a long time, people-watching from the shadows of the alley, listening to the thumping music coming from a seedy club across the street and a little ways over… but unless he had a reason he wasn’t moving.

He didn’t think about thugs, because they seemed to develop the policy of shoot-on-sight (a problem that crops up when you have an enemy that knows your death only slows you down a little), and while he never wanted to feel as hungry as he did every time he woke up, if they _did_ shoot him he wouldn’t be drunk anymore, and he’d be able to lose them.

_Oh, what cheerful thoughts these were …_

Ianto shook his head.

(Then decided that perhaps he was a bit more drunk than he thought, from the sluggish, rolling feel of it.)

Always planning, because plans were important even if they usually went to hell.

There was giggling, and a couple who’d almost made it past the alley stopped to make out against the bricks, the man pushing the girl up against the wall. Ianto caught a flash of a pale thigh and the contrast of a garter belt worn too tight.

Ianto took a long swallow from his can, wincing at the taste, and prepared to wait them out.

Thought about the last time he’d had sex, with a man or woman… frowned because of course the last time was with Jack, and Ianto was tired of thinking of Jack.

What did Jack have to do with anything right now? Why did he have to be on his mind all the time if he wasn’t even on the same _planet_? Ianto frowned harder and fiddled with the tab of the can, thinking that he should go and have amazing monkey sex with someone.

Then he wouldn’t have to think about Jack and how good at sex he was.

Ianto nodded, and thought he would go out and find someone to fuck or be fucked by… as soon as this couple was done.

That seemed like it was becoming less and less of an option, as it seemed like the couple were really getting into it. The sound of moans reached Ianto, and he laughed aloud at what his life was like.

Nearly at his true age’s body, he was sitting on top of a trashcan at the end of an alley, contemplating his lack of a sex life, watching a couple getting their rocks off, and drinking crap beer.

Fantastic.

Just fan- _fucking_ -tastic.

His laugh must’ve been louder than he thought, because the girl startled and lowered her leg from around the man’s waist and pushed him back to look down the alley nervously. So she at least wasn’t _that_ drunk.

The man sighed, and Ianto laughed again. 

“Oh, don’t stop on my account.” Ianto laughed, finishing the rest of his beer and going for another can. At least the night air kept them chilled.

He wondered if he would have to actually go into a club to find someone, or if he could just wait on the street—no, no, that made him sound like a prostitute.

Ianto drank more beer.

The girl tugged on the man’s arm, shifting at the cold wind and saying something too low for him to hear, and Ianto snorted. Yeah, he bet she was cold. If she didn’t have enough alcohol in her system to not mind being caught making out in an alley, she certainly hadn’t had enough to be able to ignore the chill winds. Ianto was far enough in the alley to be protected from it, but they certainly weren’t.

“What, you want to watch? Maybe hoping to join?” The man called back, and Ianto shook his head at how familiar that voice was. Everything seemed familiar nowadays; it was best not to think about it. Best not to dwell, not really…

The Man’s face was in shadow as he walked closer, the girl trailing behind him reluctantly.

One of the stuttering lights that occasionally lit a doorway to the alley lit, and he caught sight of the man’s face.

Ianto laughed.

“John Hart?” Seriously? He took another long pull of beer and shook his head, bangs not quite flopping in his eyes. He finds out that Jack left, and then finds bloody John Hart when trying to drown out his feelings.

Fantastic.

He shook his head, wondering what would be blown up this time.

“You know me?” Hart sounded intrigued, and he couldn’t help but smile into his beer. The light flashed again before settling into a dim glow, and Ianto saw John’s face shift when he caught a look at Ianto’s face, and looked down his body before flicking back up, flirty smile.

“You remember me, but I don’t quite remember you… which is _quite_ the tragedy…” He sidled closer, body tilted, “as I’m certain I’d remember someone as gorgeous as you,” leaning in, making the whole situation seem more intimate.

Of course John Hart manages to make a dingy back alley more intimate. Not by much, mind, but still.

“Johnny…” the girl whined, edging close to John’s back.

In the light Ianto saw that he still had his red hussar jacket, sword at his hip, and now that he knew what and where to look for it, still had a couple guns hidden on his person. Probably had more than Ianto can see in the darkness, but he could count three even in the shadows.

Ianto lowered the can from his lips, and raised an eyebrow at Hart. Trying to flirt with him while he had a drunk and willing girl with him?

One who was obviously eager to get to a bed, too…

Was Ianto surprised?

No.

He rolled his eyes, smirking. How could he have expected anything different?

“What— _Eye Candy_? Is that you?”

That _was_ a surprise, Hart recognizing Ianto as he currently was, and Ianto wondered what had stirred Hart’s memory.

Ianto gave an innocent look to the girl, who was by now looking rather put out (put out at Hart not putting out? HAH!) (Oh boy he _was_ a bit more drunk than he’d estimated… he was laughing aloud at that…), and she pouted at him, overly glossed lips sticking out. Ianto refrained from snorting, but only just barely.

She looked moments away from stomping her foot.

(He wondered if that was more difficult to do wearing 4-inch heels)

~~(Jack would know)~~

(Shut up)

“Surprised you remembered me,” Ianto finished off the can and put it back in the pack. He had three more, and when he pulled out one he raised an eyebrow at John in question. He seemed willing enough to waste time when he could be fucking, so why not give opportunity to waste more time? He didn’t care that the girl was looking frustrated; he remembered girls like her from when he was a teen. Willing to fuck around and hurt feelings, but when attention wasn’t fully on them, they pouted, whined, got mean…

(Rather like John Hart, really…)

~~(Rather like Jack, sometimes…)~~

(Shut up)

He didn’t know if she was exactly the type, but no evidence suggested otherwise.

(Like attracts like? Birds of a feather fuck together?)

Gods, he needed more to drink.

(Flock, not fuck. Both worked though.)

He tossed one can to John, and tilted his head at the girl. She scrunched her nose in distaste: of course. Only dirty martinis and pina coladas for her. Any sort of drink that wouldn’t look out of sorts to have a little umbrella in it.

He caught John surreptitiously checking his Vortex manipulator, and laughed.

“You’re in the right time, don’t worry.”

John chuckled, teeth flashing in the low light. “Well Eye Candy, you look a bit…”

“Different? Yeah, that’s the Rift for you…” He wasn’t worried saying this in front of the girl. She’d explain it away herself.

“The rift?” Sure enough, she poked her head around John, momentarily stopping tugging on the back of his jacket, momentarily stopping her glaring and pouting.

“Is that like a club or something?”

“Oh, it’s something like that, yeah…” Ianto shook his head and John laughed.

He didn’t even like John Hart, but he couldn’t deny that it felt good to be joking about something like that with someone who knows. He didn’t have Tosh; she was dead; so was Owen, he didn’t have Jack; he was off planet, and he didn’t know what the hell was happening with Gwen but over the months she’d been working in Torchwood she was much more willing than anyone would have imagined for the shoot-first way of thinking…

(A nasty part of Ianto thought she would have been prime material for Torchwood One.)

He’d died enough, thank you very much, and he wasn’t going to make half a dozen sandwiches so that he could maybe try to explain things before she put a bullet between his eyes.

And even then there was no way of knowing she wouldn’t shoot him when he woke up again.

(It was actually a bit of a given as he’d wake up different, and he’d never exactly given out his childhood photos…)

He wasn’t willing to go through that hunger. Not again.

Never again.

(Never, Never, Never, Never, Never…)

Ianto shook his head, banishing depressing thoughts like that, and took a long swallow of his piss-poor beer. He was just enjoying conversation. When was the last time he’d had an actual conversation?

(One that didn’t involve Ianto being shot repeatedly, that is…)

He couldn’t recall.

He caught the look Hart was giving him, and thought it over for a moment, running the tip of his tongue over his lips. Caught the way Hart followed the action with his eyes.

Yeah. Sure. Why not?

He set his beer down next to the case of empties, and rolled his shoulders back in a small stretch, noticing how Hart noticed this, and gave a slow smile before standing. Hart had already cracked open his own can, and winced at the taste.

Apparently Hart wasn’t nearly as drunk as Ianto thought he was, if the quality of beer was still bothering him.

“Crap beer you got here.”

“I’ve got better stuff at my place.”

The girl gave a little shocked sound, and John grinned at the invitation of it. 

Ianto didn’t feel like doing subtle. Not tonight.

Ianto stepped closer, into personal boundaries, and leaned in further. He could definitely smell the liquor on his breath, and John leaned in a bit further, their misting breaths intermingling.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.” Ianto let the word escape in a throaty breath, the kind that made Jack moan over his accent.

“Hey! I’m right here you know!”

Ianto tilted his head to the side to glance at the girl from over John’s shoulder, smirking slightly at the hum of approval this gained from Hart when it bared the long line of his throat for inspection, and raised both eyebrows at her. She was definitely pouting.

Aw, poor baby…

“Oh come now darling, don’t tell me you aren’t interested in this gorgeous Welshman? Just listen to those _vowels_ …”

(A sudden thought: Did NO alien race have an accent even remotely similar to the Welsh? That made him strangely sad considering how many English accents he’d heard from lost/invading Aliens… Welsh an already a dying language, but the accent goes as well? Rubbish.)

Hart wasn’t paying attention to her, though, instead focusing on running his hands lightly up and down Ianto’s sides, feeling the soft material of his waistcoat and trailing fingers over the buttons over his belly, teasing…

Ianto saw with some amusement that though she was obviously jealous at the attention Ianto was getting, she was also considering it.

Well then.

Better get that straightened out, as it were.

Ianto pushed lightly on Hart’s chest, fingers splayed, and leaned in to kiss him, the frown that had momentarily stolen across Harts face clearing, before he noticed a shine on Hart’s lips, and paused.

One hand went to his pocket.

The frown was just reappearing on Harts face when Ianto jerked his head back enough to swipe a handkerchief across Hart’s lips. Hart twitched back, but not soon enough.

“What was that for?” Hart seemed more curious than offended (probably due to the lack of immediate effect of any sort of drug), and Ianto held up his dark grey handkerchief for inspection.

“I don’t particularly like your brand of lip gloss, sorry.”

Hart grinned.

“’S not mine, Eye Candy.” He jerked his head back towards the girl, and Ianto shrugged before leaning forward to nip at John Hart’s lips. One hand went to the back of Hart’s head to pull him in closer. “You should always have a handkerchief, just in case.”

(He decided to ignore the whisper of giggles on the wind at his words; faeries could go fuck themselves tonight.)

(He wasn’t a kid, why wouldn’t they just _leave him alone already,_ bloody faeries)

Hart has an unsurprisingly soft mouth and mobile tongue, and at this point Ianto isn’t his full 6 foot self (he still had one more growth spurt to go through for those extra inches), so he doesn’t have to lean down far to enjoy it.

John Hart is also, unsurprisingly, an amazing kisser. It’s obvious he’s intending to kiss Ianto senseless and breathless, but Ianto has had a good amount of experience with 51st century kissing habits, and knows that there are a few things that even John doesn’t know about (as evidence from Jack’s previously surprised moans).

So Ianto sucks at John’s tongue like _this_ , moving his tongue just _so_ , and yes, there’s that surprised moan, and Ianto manages to get Hart’s back up against the wall.

He’s just drunk enough to think this is a good idea, just drunk enough to not care that there’s a girl a few feet away, and many more people at the head of the alley, but Jack had awoken an oral fixation in Ianto, and he missed having a cock in his mouth.

“ _Goddess_ ,” Hart panted when Ianto let up on his mouth, kissing and sucking at Hart’s neck, rubbing at his hips as he felt around for how to undo them. He felt a few spots that were over warm and slippery on his neck, obviously hickeys already given from the girl, and Ianto nibbled and suckled around those before licking long strips over top.

There was a clasp at the front of his trousers, and Ianto gave the hard cock he could feel under that a good rub before undoing it.

He sucked back up Hart’s neck to breath in his ear, letting him feel Ianto’s grin against his cheek when he asked “How about a blow job, _Johnny_?”

“Fuck _yeah_.”

Ianto’s hands found Hart’s cock (though he supposes he could call him John after this, or during, he wasn’t quite sure), and he leisurely stroked it to full hardness while he dropped to his knees. The material immediately went damp, but Ianto didn’t much care; they were jeans. 

The head was centimeters from his lips when he looked up; eyebrow cocked (hah), and asked, “No diseases I’ll have to worry about, yeah?”

John laughed, panting, “Oh Eye Candy, I’ve got all my vaccinations— _ohh_ …”

Ianto hadn’t waited for John to finish saying vaccinations (Jack had explained that fairly early on, the vaccinations kids of the future got against STI’s when they hit puberty), instead swallowing down as much of John’s cock as he could, one hand stroking what he couldn’t reach, and started putting to use all the things he’d learned from Jack. Then, he started using all that he’d learned himself about how to make Jack go crazy, and hazily took note that a good many things also made John Hart go crazy.

John was similar to Jack in that he liked to have his crown suckled at, tongue playing at his foreskin, and enjoyed Ianto turning his head to suck wide swaths of the side of his cock, but seemed to enjoy the skin at the base of his cock played with and stimulated much more than Jack did, and loved it when Ianto hollowed out his cheeks to suck him down.

The heavy weight of his cock was delicious against his tongue, and he tilted his head to run the crown against his palate, humming at the tickle of it.

Both ran their fingers through his hair when he did this, John trailing his nails against his scalp more than Jack, and Jack enjoyed rhythmically tugging at the strands more, and when Ianto stopped for a breather, hand pumping, and rubbed the side of his face with the crown, looking up to make eye contact, both fell apart.

(He did note that it probably wasn’t good that he was constantly comparing John to Jack, probably wasn’t healthy, but bugger it. He could stand to be a little unhealthy.)

“Oh, _oh_ , Eye Candy, yes, hmmm… Ah…” John kept running his mouth throughout, just as open as Jack when letting him know if he was enjoying himself, and Ianto smirked against the skin of his cock as he reached down to rub himself a bit. The musky smell of John’s sex seemed to sink into his pores, 51st century pheromones an old friend by now, and Ianto ignored the hot and now cold trails of pre-cum and spit on his cheeks from rubbing John’s cock on his face, and nuzzled into his pubic bone and the neatly trimmed hair there.  Stretching his tongue, he managed to clumsily lick at John’s balls at the same time, before moving back to suck at John’s cock.

“Oh, that is, like, _so hot_ …”

Ianto had honestly forgotten about her, and accidentally ran his front teeth against skin. He pulled off of John’s cock with wet suction, giving the possibly abused skin a lick in apology, and glanced to the side.

Her face was flushed and she was squirming where she stood, thighs pressed together and her mouth open like she was waiting for someone to offer to let her have a go.

(How about ‘no’)

He wondered if he could be more unimpressed with her right then.

“You know, you look, like, _just_ like Ianto Jones!”

Well, apparently he could. He ignored the look Hart was undoubtedly giving him just then. John brought a hand up and rubbed his thumb across his brow.

(Ianto hadn’t realized he’d been frowning, but god _damn_ was it annoying being told that.)

“Where’d you find her?” Ianto asked, giving little kisses and licks up the one side of John’s shaft, poking the tip of his tongue at the slit, and rolling his eyes to give the girl an unimpressed look. He pressed one of his hands between his own thighs, both to relieve pressure and warm his fingers; couldn’t help glance at her bare thighs and think she must be freezing. However, any sympathy for her was drowned in booze and hormones, so…

He wanted to get fucked, and wasn’t terribly interested in fucking a girl right then. He very much didn’t want to ever fuck her, in fact, never mind girls in general… And there was no way he was going to bring her to his super duper secret lair; just the thought of her trying to make her way up the fire escape made him grin.

(He imagined her tripping when the spike of her heels sunk into the holes on the steps, and he forces the thought to stop there, before broken bones, before bruises and bleeding and the high possibility of her snapping her neck)

From the way she walked, too, she was certainly no virgin, and while John had his vaccinations, Ianto didn’t want to take the fifty-fifty chance that this girl was clean.

Besides, Jackie certainly wouldn’t like her.

He almost snorts at the thought, but then does snort at what John says next.

“In a club; Turns out Milley here wants to get rid of that pesky virginity—what?” John didn’t sound offended, though Ianto supposed it would be hard (hah!) to sound irritated with the head of his cock being suckled at. He wonders if that snort had given an interesting sensation…

He pulled off to answer, and took a quick glance at the girl: yup.

She was looking more offended than embarrassed, solidifying his hypothesis into fact.

“Not a viiirgiiin...” he sang lightly before sucking John down again. The cold wind that occasionally made it back this far mean that Ianto was having to work harder for John to come, but he enjoyed it. His jaw was only starting to get that slight ache in it, and he could go on for a while longer.

“Hey! I _am too_!”

Ianto felt a smile tug around his mouthful, but didn’t pull off this time.

He’d learned quite a bit from his Tad, and detail was one of those things. His tad could tell someone’s measure from their inseam, their cut preference from how they walked, and had worked to make sure Ianto could do the same. This eye for detail meant that, when in Secondary School certain girls started walking around differently, he’d been able to tie together that change with the stories from the locker room to figure things out.

It was a party trick of his he’d managed to keep, and he wanted to laugh at the fact that he was bringing it up when he was back in this age and body.

He slowed down to something more manageable; curious about what John had to say about that.

“Oh, I know, ah, all that…” ‘Milley’ must have made a face, or some sort of noise at that, because John continued with

“What? You think I can’t tell the difference between a virgin and—”

“—a slag?” Ianto sucked John back in, the buzz of alcohol in his system paired with the feeling of a cock in his mouth warming him and dulling his usual ability to keep the less polite thoughts from escaping his mouth. He relaxed his throat and pulled him in to bob there for a few pulls, gaining some satisfying sighs before going back to his sucking.

“Oh, right, says the guy who’s like, sucking off another guy in an alley.” A hand with too-long nails tugged on the back collar of his jacket, pulling him up and off of John’s cock before pulling him close in what he supposed was meant to be a menacing fashion. It would probably have been significantly more threatening if she wasn’t a good half-foot shorter, holding him so delicately (presumably so as to not ruin her lengthy nails), and if she didn’t seem to translate ‘threatening expression’ into ‘scrunch your face up’ in her inebriated state. Ianto stood with the motion and absently wiped the drying pre and spit from his cheeks, and started sucking his fingers clean afterwards.

He felt like he didn’t have the brainpower to blush right then, and drying semen was uncomfortable besides.

“Hey, I wasn’t done with that!” John actually sounded put out, and wrapped his hands around himself to protect his spit-slick cock from the cold.

“Listen here, bub, you’re like, ruining my night, okay?”

_(Bub?)_

Ianto raised an eyebrow at her; thought process feeling like it was working through water. John stepped forward from the wall, hands still around himself, and Ianto wondered if they’d be up making placating gestures if they weren’t full.

“Look, why don’t we all just go on with our business, maybe find a nice hotel to shack up in and get over our differences, hmm? Maybe under them as well. Nice and friendly like, no one has to go home without being shagged tonight.” His grin was filthy, and Ianto smirked around his index finger. With John’s eyes on him, he pulled the digit slowly, absently, from his mouth, licking his lips afterwards.

He was certain they were red by now, and quirked them.

“I don’t sleep with liars.”

“Eye Candy, I think you’re a bit more drunk than I thought…” Ianto knew exactly what it said about John Hart’s character that he still looked contemplative, and didn’t give a fuck. Milley looked insulted and thoughtful, and Ianto barely restrained himself from making a face at her. He couldn’t hold back the urge to roll his eyes though.

He shoved ‘Milley’ away (what a ridiculous name, it made him think of elderly neighbors calling for their purse-sized dogs), dislodging her overly long nails from where they’d migrated to his sleeve.

“Let me clarify; I don’t sleep with _bad_ liars.” And he certainly wouldn’t willingly sleep with this girl, even if the cure for hunger could only be found through her vagina.

(What a retched thought. Ugh.)

(He thought the phrase ‘eating someone out’ was now ruined for him forever.)

He moved back to John, and pushed him back up against the wall, ignoring the girl’s tugs at his jacket to lean in close, lips against John’s ear.

“You know, _this_ body is technically still virgin…” John twisted his neck to look at him, and Ianto smiled before giving John a small peck.

“First time I took it up my arse I was 23, right now I’m about 19 or 20.”

In the small pause, Ianto gave him another small peck and mumbled against his lips “The Rift, remember?”

It was obvious that Milley hadn’t heard him, but from the suddenly interested and intrigued look on Hart’s face must have given her a hint that Ianto offered something… interesting.

“And the first time you fucked?”

Ianto shrugged on shoulder. “17.”

“Bit late, that.” John’s eyebrows were raised.

“21st Century,” Ianto reminded him lightly, “And I did other things before that.”

Face suddenly determined, Milley stopped yanking on his jacket and said, “I’m up for a threesome.”

She said it like it was a challenge.

_Look what I’m prepared to do… you gonna back out or, like, what?_

Honestly.

Ianto rolled his eyes and picked up John’s mostly forgotten can and took a long pull, leaving a bit on his mouth before he dropped to his knees pushed John’s hands away, and took him back in his mouth. Held down his hips when they jerked hard into his face.

From the noise John made, Ianto’s split-moment decision to experiment worked out, and the taste of crap beer and cock wasn’t half-bad.

It was only, like, a quarter bad.

Suddenly tired of this girl being around, Ianto swallowed John down, breathing between each bob and swallow, and it wasn’t long before John was panting, and not long after that that John was coming.

He swallowed a mouthful, and part of another, and kept the rest of it in his mouth to share a sloppy kiss with John, using his rather chilly fingers to tuck him back in his pants.

He pulled back far enough to nip John’s lips before surging forward to swallow down his groan, then stepping back.

He smoothed down his jacket, shooting Milley a look for possibly tearing the back of it, and tugged at his cuffs to straighten them.

It wasn’t the same without his suit, but it was habit now to smooth down his clothing after giving a blowjob. The taste of John’s come was heavy in his mouth, and he swallowed convulsively and ran his tongue over his teeth before giving John a short smile.

“That’s certainly not a virgin mouth…”

Ianto felt his lips twitch. “I never said that my _mouth_ was virginal.” He turned to get his last can of beer, debating opening it now or after the taste of come in his mouth was no longer a novel or nostalgic experience.

“Hey, where’re you going?”

Ianto kept the can unopened for now, and turned back to the pair. The girl looked rather dazed, but Hart was frowning. Maybe he was realizing that it wasn’t a case of having his cake and eating it too, but more like the choice between a slice of cake and… he looked at Milley again. A cupcake.

“My place or hers.” Was all he offered.

“I’m fine with either,” said Milley, and Ianto frowned at her before exaggeratedly shaking his head. He’d like to say it was on purpose, but he was drunker than he thought and the action entirely unintentional.

“ _My_ place isn’t an option for _you_.”

He hadn’t thought he could still be a mean drunk, but then again for the past couple of years he was either drinking on his own or with Tosh.

He cracked open the beer and chugged half of it.

You couldn’t really be mean around Tosh.

(Not unless you were Owen, bastard.)

“Oooh, Eye Candy, you want me to yourself then? Bit greedy. What was it? ‘Caring is sharing’?”

Ianto shrugged and noticed that the flabbergasted look on the girls face really wasn’t doing anything for her.

(Gods, he knew he was being mean, but he just couldn’t help it. He thought it was the ‘looking like Ianto Jones’ bit that was bringing it out, but it was equally possible that she really was as much of a twat as he thought she was. )

“I don’t care.” _So no sharing_ , he continued in his mind, shaking the can in his hand to see how much was left. He’d prefer to get shagged tonight, but he’d already gotten something out of this night, already had the satisfaction of making someone else come with his mouth, and if all he had to look forward to when he got back was liquor, then so be it.

If he didn’t die of alcohol poisoning in the night, he would have died of mortification waking up next to John Hart in the morning anyway. He was still hard though, so he pressed his palm against the bulge in his jeans, sighing at the feel of it.

He leaned back against the garbage can and finished off his beer before raising his eyebrows at John Hart.

He was looking between the two of them, and part of him wondered if she’d told him something that was making him hesitate. Maybe she was super flexible (but Ianto could be flexible), or maybe she was willing to take it up the arse (but then, so was Ianto). Or maybe John had just bought her quite a few drinks and he wasn’t so willing to let go if his investment.

“Well?”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

“How drunk _are_ you Eye Candy?”

Ianto led them down the right alley, eyes on the fire escape.

Slowing to a stop, he pushed off the opposite wall to run a few steps off the wall, arms up to catch the bottom rail of the fire escape.

“Not that I’m not up for gymnastics, but what are you—”

Ianto pulled himself up and cut off the rest of what John was saying when he pushed the ladder down. Even oiled, it still rumbled when it came down.

“C’mon then.” Ianto made his way up to the roof, hearing the rattle of the ladder coming back up after John, and enjoyed the loose feelings in his joints.

He’d died much more often than he’d thought possible, and had been a variety of ages in the past while, and more often than not he had to deal with growing pains. They weren’t fun in the least, and he hoped that he would be able to stay in this age and body stage for a while yet. Not too hard though, because it was likely that in the next day or so, if he went out he would likely get shot again, or poisoned, or will be in an accident that he’ll have a hard time explaining away and getting away from.

A hand groped him, and Ianto didn’t jump. He did grab the hand when it was going to grab around at his crotch, but that was because if they were doing this they certainly weren’t doing this on the roof. He had a perfectly fine bed inside. He had perfectly wonderful heating there as well.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto pushed John down to the bed after pulling him through to his bedroom, and wondered at his life.

Here he was, about to have sex with some… nefarious omnisexual time traveler and…

Well, that was petty much it.

It was certainly enough to wonder at.

He’d had sex with time travelers before—well, mostly the one, or _only_ the one that he really knew of, and Jack could be nefarious after a fashion…

He was definitely wicked, despicable when he was in a teasing mood, infamous and perverse in equal measure, and though he wasn’t as close to evil as he always assumed Jack feared he was, he was close to every synonym for nefarious. Synonym was a fun word, and he’d say it aloud if his mouth weren’t otherwise occupied.

The word synonymous was even better.

Well, but at least Jack was nefarious in a nice way— _oh_ , but then again, John Hart knew how to do some _wicked_ things with his tongue, and his fingers were just…

Where was he going with that thought process again?

He didn’t know, but what did he care when he could be pushing John down to his bed, straddling him, and working that hussar jacket from his shoulders?

He did pause after getting it off though, placing it carefully on the bedside table because he knew it was original, he knew it was delicate in its own way, and he was just that way, okay?

Okay.

Ianto knew he was drunk, knew he was being sloppy with alcohol, but he was also objective enough to know that he was horribly lonely.

You could only surround yourself with kittens for so long before… well. Let’s just say that cats couldn’t make up for regular human interaction.

Also, Ianto didn’t want to be a crazy cat lady.

“Certainly don’t look like a lady…” John laughed into a freshly sucked mark on his chest, rolling Ianto onto his back, so Ianto pulled at his hair and ran his nails down his spine and John bit—

“Oh _ie ffwcio_!”

John groaned, sudden and loud.

“What was _that_ , that was just—”

Ianto grinned and said “ _Ffyc fi John caled_ ,” groaning the words right in his ear, Fuck me now John, and John’s hips jerked down against his own in an uncontrolled motion.

“Oh fuck that’s good, you’re just…”

Ianto didn’t know where his trousers went or how John removed his pants without moving from between his legs.

“Cymraeg mewn gwirionedd yn troi chi ar, hmm?”

John just groaned, and Ianto laughed.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

A losing battle, Ianto tried to hold himself in check while John fingered him.

Once he realized this, he gave him a frustrated glare and pushed back.

Damnably, John just grinned like he had all night.

A sore loser, he retaliated by unclenching his jaw and letting the babble that had been contained there loose, knowing at least half of it was in Welsh.

John cussed.

Ianto grinned.

John twisted his fingers _just so_ —

Ianto was lost.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

He came to sated and panting, pleasantly sore and the taste of John in his mouth.

He rolled off the bed, ignoring the huff John gave, and got a wet towel. Two glasses, the bottle of pills, a large water bottle, and Vodka. He moved on autopilot, mind still pleasantly buzzed from alcohol and (multiple) orgasm, but still making himself move forward.

Back to the bed to clean up, ignored that John took Ianto wiping him down like it was his due, and he left again to set Mini to defensive mode.

(He may have slept with him, but he in no way trusted John)

(Well, he trusted him for a good fuck)

(Multiple fucks)

(Many, many fucks)

~~(Ianto wondered if he’d be up for it in the morning)~~

~~(Of course he was)~~

(Many, _many_ fucks)

Back to the bed, crawl over the crumpled sheets, manhandle John (“Hey, what’re you—”) into position, pull up cleaner bits of sheets and…

John was remarkably good about Ianto forcing a cuddle; all lenient and malleable like Jack after a good shag, good about Ianto shifting until they were both in a comfortable position, and didn’t seem to mind that Ianto was using him like a giant teddy bear.

This was one of the reasons why Ianto had been so quick to like Jack when they first started shagging; not even Lisa was so comfortable with Ianto’s post-coital cuddling impulse.

(And ouch, _ouch_ , it still hurts)

At least not for long.

Jack had seemed surprised at Ianto’s cuddling, like everyone, but had accepted it much more than anyone else had—most could deal with it for an hour at most, or until they’re asleep, but they’d inevitably wiggle away at some point.

 _It’s too hot; too sticky; too weird; you’re smothering me; I’m just not touchy-feely;_ Ianto had heard so many reasons, so to find Jack still in his arms the morning after, and looking happy to be there…

Well, Jack Harkness was always the exception.

Later, much later, when Ianto had ventured a cuddle when they _hadn’t_ just had sex, Jack had again looked surprised, but had accepted it as well. More than that, it was like that had opened the floodgates, and it was Jack looking for those long moments in return and…

Well, he made Ianto not feel like he was strange enjoying physical closeness like this.

It was entirely possible that, along with being much more open to sex in the future people were also much more used to cuddling, but Ianto hadn’t gotten around to asking… it seemed much more likely now, with John breathing into his ear and working himself into a nice sprawl, but Ianto’d been content with accepting that Jack just liked cuddles.

John liked cuddles, too.

Ianto wriggled his way a bit closer, into a bit more of a comfortable position, and hid his face partly in a shoulder, partly in his pillow.

There was a great yawning space just behind his ribs, slightly smaller now, and he knew logically that he was probably lonely… knew that he probably wouldn’t have even thought about sleeping with John Hart if he wasn’t, but for now he was happy to just hold someone close.

Even if that someone was John Hart.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Owen frowned at the results.

He’d set up a dozen blood samples to be analyzed over night, and the results should be showing…

Well, it should bloody well be showing something _different_!

He pulled one sample towards him, and placed a drop on one slide.

Under the microscope the cells were doing what they were supposed to do. Normal—

No. Wait. What was…

He pulled another sample and put it on a separate slide, checked that one: the same.

Frowning, he pulled another towards him, and checked that sample.

And again.

And again.

“ _Fuck_.”

Either the team who got the samples at the site were complete idiots, or…

Or something really fucking _weird_ was going on with Jonesey.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto woke at his usual time—at his internal alarm clock thank you very much—to a warm weight at his back and chest hair in his face. He shifted, slightly, and the warm weight at his back was soft, furry, and damn, he should probably get up and get some water for Jackie’s kittens, shouldn’t he? They were starting to understand that the water was for them, and though they still randomly knocked the bowl over and played in it, tehy seemed to be developing at normal rate.

He flexed again, rotating his shoulders in a small stretch, ended up grinding slightly into John’s hip, and felt an answering grind back.

He turned his head and sought out the glowing numbers on the clock beside his bed.

Just before six. He let out a breath.

He should also probably kick John Hart out, and get back to working out the security on Warehouse #1 (the first of the many he would have to break into in the upcoming weeks), and the best way to get in and out and alternative routes and…

“Oh hel _lo_ beautiful.” The chest under his cheek shifted.

Ianto squeezed his eyes shut.

“You aren’t allowed to have sex with my cat.”

Gwen had told him about the poodle.

The chest lifted and fell in a short burst, and a huff of breath ruffled his hair.

“Well, _your cat_ seems to be glaring at me anyway. She’s absolutely _gor_ geous though…”

There was a growing hardness at Ianto’s hip, and he felt Hart shift, reach…

The soft warmth at his back left, and he heard Jackie hit the ground to stalk away.

Another huff, and Ianto grinned and lifted himself to be able to look at Hart’s face.

“She doesn’t much like to be pet by strangers.”

Hart pouted. “Oh c’mon, I wasn’t going to _do_ anything…”

Ianto shifted so he could press his hips down against Hart’s.

It was probably a bad idea, but…

“You sure about that…?”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

“Oh, that is _beautiful_ ,” Hank breathed, staring at the information in front of him.

He’d said that Jones was brilliant, but he hadn’t even begun to imagine that he could be like _this_.

He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. He’d stayed up ‘til the early morning to find it, but oh was it worth it.

He pulled the information all together, and made sure his tracks were properly covered, and sent the lot to Eunice’s secured address.

_Took all night, but I found this. Your Turn._

Sherry woke up about then, and didn’t even complain about having to usher him to bed. He had the best wife _ever_.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

After his impromptu morning exercises,

(Many, _many_ fucks)

 and a bit more cuddling through the afterglow, Ianto got up to refill the water dish for the kittens. As usual, he did the mental calculations for how much longer until they’d be weaned, until he would have to find kitten-friendly food…

Well, he still had a month or so before they were fully weaned, and he’d have to check if he should start offering them solid food before that.

He didn’t bother getting dressed—he needed a shower, and he was _so_ beyond being body shy—and felt Hart’s eyes on him from the bed as he moved.

“If you want a shower you’ll either have to share or deal with cold water—”

Ianto cut himself off at the look he got from Hart.

Of course. He rolled his eyes, ignored Hart’s eyebrow waggle, and headed for the bathroom.

“Come on then.”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

When Tosh made it to Gwen and Rhys’ house, she was clutching her laptop close to her chest, practically floating.

Owen was already there, and though it worried her somewhat to see the worried look on his face, she knew her news would clear that some. Hopefully.

“Good news, I take it?” Gwen asked. Tosh nodded and took a moment to appreciate the sight of a very pregnant woman expertly cleaning a gun, a book on baby mannerisms open beside her.

She sat down at the desk Rhys had placed a little ways off from the bed (and he was being such a good sport about all this wasn’t he? Gwen was lucky to have him), and turned the screen to the other two once the footage was up.

“Yes, I found the CCTV footage for the area, and though someone tried to delete the footage… well.” She allowed herself a small, smug smile. “I’m working on tracking the people who tried to delete it, but for now what I have is _this_.”

They watched the footage of an unmarked van—“Bloody Typical…”—pulling up to the warehouse, and a group of men carrying a small form between them. The grainy image didn’t show much detail, but they had to assume that it was Ianto. He’d obviously been knocked out.

“This confirms the timeline, and it was a little more than a week before I could find this,” she changed the CCTV camera’s perspective, and pointed to the bottom corner. “I almost missed this. But look.”

She froze the frame and pulled the image forward, enlarging it and making it significantly clearer. And there was a very young looking Ianto. Baby-cheeked and curly haired, a bit of a manic look about his eyes, but the cheekbones, the forehead… It was definitely Ianto.

Tosh beamed at the two. “He’s _alive_.”

 

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

John dug into the breakfast Ianto made, moaning and groaning like he was still having sex—

Ianto checked under the table to make sure Jackie wasn’t under there.

—while Ianto nibbled on his own food and cleaned up.

He didn’t have much of a hangover, just a slight ache behind his eyelids and a startling case of cottonmouth… regardless; he wasn’t quite in the right state of mind to continue where he left off with planning.

 _And_ , he thought, _I have to get rid of Hart_.

He didn’t even know why Hart was still there—he’d thought that he’d be gone in the middle of the night, or after shower sex, or…

Perhaps he’d leave after he’d finished eating.

Ianto made a small face. Gods, he hoped Hart wasn’t planning on hanging about.

“I hope you aren’t back in Cardiff to cause trouble…” Ianto said.

Hart licked egg yolk off his fork and smirked.

“Oh c’mon, you aren’t still sore about last time, are you? Well,” he stopped to lavish a grin his way, eyes lingering on how his sweat pants hung on his hips, “sore in a bad way I mean…”

Ianto gave him a flat stare.

“Hey, I was strong-armed into helping Grey! And I came back to help!”

Ianto tilted his head in acquiescence, giving him that. Then raised an eyebrow at him because he still hadn’t said if he was up to trouble. Not that Ianto thought he would say so in so many words, but he thought he could probably figure out what’s bull from what’s not.

Hart waved a hand in his direction dismissively.

“Been checking out the sights and sounds… what? Last couple of times I’ve been here I didn’t get the chance to take in the city! Besides, everyone’s always randy after a disaster. All for celebrating being alive, makes people much more open if you get what I mean.” He winked and took a long sip of coffee.

Ianto stared.

“…Disaster?”

“Volcano day… by the _Goddess_ this is good…”

He felt a sharp spike of anger—

He _knew_ , _he knew_ about the 456, knew that this would happen, _knew_ and didn’t _tell them_ , the bloody _bastard, fucking_ —

Before reigning it in. Felt his nails dig grooves into his palm, and forced himself to breathe.

“Right.”

John Hart was used to doing things as a Time Agent. Ianto understood enough from what Jack had told him that some things were fixed events, they would happen one way or another, and it was going to happen. The deal made in 1965 made sure of that.

Ianto sighed, and turned his thoughts to what he should get to doing. He still needed to work on his Warehouse #1 problem, and he should probably check into what Torchwood is doing right then—last he’d checked they’d sent most of UNIT back to their HQ—and he had to find the time to see what was up with Tyra Shaw…

He frowned. He should also probably start looking for homes for the kittens. He could deal with them now, he could deal with having one cat and six bundles of fluff, but he didn’t think he could handle 7 cats. And he didn’t like the idea of just giving them away to just anybody… he had to make sure they’d be going to a good home, which of course meant more research…

He blinked when a warm palm slid up the back of his neck, and an even warmer body pressing up along his side.

“Now then Eye Candy,” Hart murmured, “You’ve got me all fed and watered, and I don’t think I’ve had a chance to explore all the, ah, _possibilities_ presented here, so why don’t we…”

Hart did that thing with his fingers again, and Ianto relaxed back into it.

Well, he could focus on that later…

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Owen frowned and pulled out a USB. Gesturing, Tosh gave up command of her laptop easily enough, and he pulled up the results of his tests.

“This is what I found looking through Ianto’s blood samples… because they are all, actually, from the bloke.” He then pulled up another file, and placed it right next to Ianto’s.

“This,” he said, “is what it’s _supposed_ to look like.”

Tosh and Gwen looked between the two, and Gwen had the thought that it would be much better if they could see this on the big monitors at the Hub, but until she gave birth (Hallelujah her due date was within the week!) she was banned from the area.

Ianto’s results looked _very_ different from the results Owen said they should look like.

Tosh pointed at Ianto’s blood cells. “What’s happening here?”

The cells looked almost jumpy, shifting, sometimes bulging or deflating in increments. It actually looked rather alarming… Tosh didn’t know much about blood, but she didn’t think they should be doing something like that.

Owen sat back in the rolling chair with a sigh.

“Yeah, well, that’s the problem. I haven’t seen blood cells do anything like this before, but as far as I can tell, what they’re _doing_ is refusing to fucking act like bloodcells!”

At their startled looks he sighed, aggrieved.

“Whatever the _fuck_ happened to Tea Boy in that warehouse, it’s done something to his system. His fucking blood cells aren’t all showing the same fucking age, and they’re sticking around for _five fucking times as long_ and fuck if I know what the _fuck_ it means.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Randompersonofdoom for Podficcing AIWU and also for dealing with my flailings while writing, and also for giving me a laugh for how much she thought I was going to angst up the first chapter. I know I’ve set a precedent, but that was preset angsting that you should already know about through having watched the series. That’s the thing about shoving three seasons into one chapter.  
> But thanks :) And I’m SO looking forward to chapter 4 XD  
> NOTES!:  
> Drink Finders Warehouse is the equivalent of the LCBO in Ontario? SAQ of Quebec? Correct me if I’m wrong :D I’m looking at you Fionrose ;) You’ve been so helpful (and I say that with absolutely no sarcasm, I feel I should mention, because this is a thanks through text and thanks like these are very hard to get across like this without sounding sarcastic and a weird mix of annoyed and teasing) with the Brit Picking (thank you thank you thank you :D), so really, don’t hesitate in letting me know if my research is ineffective :) (again, no sarcasm)  
> Also, I’m going to eventually go back and change it, but dumpster=skip. A shank or to shank someone is a small, think knife, and a threat to stab/cut/slash someone with said knife. No clue what the brit-picked-equivalent is.  
> Oh, and I feel like I should mention something… Someone (Hello you anonymous reviewer you, I can’t respond if you aren’t logged in!) mentioned that she doesn’t know how I write such long chapters consistently, and I feel like I should remind everyone that this isn’t just me going on a writing spree and deciding to post at ALL AT ONCE BWAHAHA—no. This is me being like “how about some consistency here?” 10k/chapter, and it means that if I don’t post for a while, or experience some writers block, when I do post next it won’t be a teeny weeny chapter with promises for more soon.  
> Hell, the reason why I have this chapter up so soon was because while I was freaking out about the first chapter and making sure there was enough of a recap to bring everyone back to the same page, I was taking my frustration out by writing what I already knew would be happening.  
> Actually, I think I had the Ianto/Hart bits written out about… oh, around chapter 4/5 of AIWU? But then it needed editing, and I needed to make sure that I wasn’t writing a drastically different Ianto, and yeah, I know I sometimes have problems with my tenses and the damnation of teh, nad, eth (WHY IS IT A WORD?), from vs. form, and so/to/of/whatever turning out as o and WORD WHY CAN’T YOU CATCH THIS SHIT!?  
> But back to what I was actually talking about, I’m really happy that this is working out, and that I’m actually managing to write a consistent 10k at a good pace, and that you guys aren’t waiting months and months for each chapter…  
> So thanks to the weird amount of anonymous reviewers for AIWU, and huzzah for writing style and how I’ve apparently moved all the suspense from my other stories to this one, and… yeah.  
> THANK YOU ALL!  
> Sorry for the lengthy note, but—OH! One more thing.  
> If you aren’t particularly fond of my three OC’s, then go ahead and skip over their parts. I’m not saying you won’t be missing any BIG plot points, or that you won’t be missing out on little plot points, but there’ll be enough in all other parts of my story for you to be not ENTIRELY confused at the end of it.  
> Only a little.  
> My OC’s aren’t going to take over the story, they DO have a purpose in both the short and long run, and personally I kind of like them. I know it’s probably because they’re my characters, but… *shrugs*  
> No clue when the next chapter will be up, because I have less than half written out right now.  
> Cheers!  
> (Also, this is so much more than 10k because I had last minute revisions, and it's currently 1:53 am and AAAGH I should have just left it but whatever.)  
> Additional Note: Yeah I wouldn't suggest you do the beer thing. I just added it because I thought of COURSE there should be something odd, it's Ianto/John, but I don't think that would actually be very sanitary or sexy or even feel all that great. So. There's that.


	3. The Stand by Mother Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EACH CHAPTER IS (about)10K. Patience for the next chapter please.  
> So this got out in (I think) relatively decent time…  
> And yet, at the same time OH MY GOD IT TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE THIS! I would have had this out last Friday, except when I would have been writing, I was instead having my teeth knocked out.  
> Yes, I got my wisdom teeth out.  
> Not as bad as I feared, but still sucks.  
> And apparently I can write no better on pain meds as I can with any amount of alcohol in my system… it just doesn’t work.  
> Sucks.  
> But THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE!  
> Thanks to The Family in this one for fixing up the article blurb!

Chapter 3—The Stand by Mother Mother

 

 

> SCHMOKER’s SMOKING GUN REVEALED                                       by Anita Blake
> 
> Carroll Schmoker was found guilty of the murder of Dmitri Costa yesterday when anonymously given tip not only proved Schmoker’s alibi to be false, but also placed her at Costa’s home at the time of the murder. Further investigations led DI Gregory Creuse to the site of the previously missing murder weapon, registered to Char Rockersmoll—a false identity which led authorities back to Schmoker.
> 
> The Anonymous Tipper left a verified case file on Char Rockersmoll, documentation showing [Rockersmoll] to be part of several organizations known for discrimination against the Transgendered and Alternatively Identified. Imagine the surprise when Char Rockersmoll was found to be the anagrammed name of Carroll Schmocker…
> 
> _(Cont. A10)_
> 
> _(More on Dmitri Costa on C32)_
> 
> _(Transgendered Crimes on B6)_
> 
> .-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto doesn’t actually end up getting anything done that day.

He blames this entirely on John Hart.

Because of him, he didn’t even end up taking Mini off of safe mode, and while he occasionally had the time to think out possible solutions to his Warehouse #1 problem… well, John Hart can be very distracting.

And inquisitive.

“Boy, Eye Candy, you preparing for the oncoming apocalypse? —Hey, hey, I’m only _joking_. You just have all this food stored away—”

“You ever going to explain how you got yourself this brand _spanking_ new body of yours? I’m not complaining, mind—”

“I can’t tell if this is a step up or down from your old hideaway—what happened with that by the way?”

“Ooh, you’ve certainly got yourself a pretty little set up here… and what sort of system is _this_? Oh, this is _gorgeous_ , mind if I…”

Ianto rubbed the bridge of his nose, and felt an oncoming headache at all the things he didn’t ask…

Like why Ianto had clothing in several sizes. (He hadn’t been able to keep him from rummaging through his closet.)

Like what he was tracking on his notice board. (And Ianto was happy he had it in his own shorthand, but there was no guarantee that Hart hadn’t…)

Like what had happened to the rest of his team. (Just—no.)

Hart had brought up Jack a grand total of once—

“So what happened to dear old Jack? He hiding out somewhere?”

“He left.”

“Oh? Where’d he—”

“He _left_.”

—before miraculously deciding to let the delicate subject drop.

Ianto didn’t know if Hart just didn’t care about Gwen, or didn’t remember her, or if it was another of the significant things he didn’t ask about…

He sighed.

Right then he didn’t much care.

Currently he was in a bar stuffed full of students, feeling at once ridiculously old and young. Hart had dragged him along, claiming that he wouldn’t be properly bed hopping if he didn’t go out every night.

(“… d’you mean _bar_ hopping, by any chance?”

“Not really. Well, it’s _sort_ of like that, but personally I think this leads to a much more pleasant evening…”

“Ah. Right. Why am I not surprised.”)

Ianto hadn’t had the energy to fight with him on the subject, and that’s how he found himself here, sweaty bodies twitching wildly to a bass-heavy beat and pressing against his back…

Ianto strained to remember even one time in his youth that he’d enjoyed scenes like this, and couldn’t.

A small group of flushed and giggling girls pressed up to the bar beside him, laughing and working to get the bartenders attention.

One tilted herself his way, cleavage on show and leaning faux-casually against the bar. He imagined that she thought she was giving him a subtle look, and knew she was hoping that that flash of cleavage would be enough for him to either strike up a conversation, or else buy her a drink… probably both.

“Hey, can I get… four shots? Yeah, Four shots of tequila? Yeah, thanks, how much—”

He turned his head to look at the group again, the foreign accents catching his attention. Not quite the all out American Jack had going for him, and there wasn’t much of a southern twang.

The girl flashing her cleavage tipsily grinned at him, licked salt off her wrist in what he assumed was meant to be in a seductive manner, and the four girls took their shots as one. All but cleavage girl made faces at the taste, and Ianto thought it might be because of how much she’d had to drink that night more than experience.

The girl who ordered caught him looking, and gave him a brief smile. “Hey.”

Ianto smiled back, hoping to get across that he was just being friendly. That’s all.

“Hello.”  
“Oooh,” she leaned forward, suddenly more interested. “Are you from around here? Do you have the accent?” any panic he’d felt at his not-interested-smile not working faded as he realized that she, like the hundreds of tourists each year, was getting excited over hearing the local accent.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours? I can’t quite place your accent… American of some sort?”

Cleavage Girl hooked her arm around Accent Girl’s shoulders.  
“Canadian bi- _atch_!” Accent Girl looked slightly embarrassed, but the rest were just about howling with laughter.

Ianto nodded, unperturbed. “Ah, clearly. Welsh.” He didn’t know if he was disappointed or not that they weren’t American, but… well. He was actually getting tired of being sad at Jack being gone. He didn’t think it was likely he would stop anytime soon, but… he was certainly done with just about _everything_ making him think of Jack. Because Jack was gone, and he needed to get over that, but he couldn’t very well do that when every other think reminds him of Jack.

He looked at the mostly watery rum and coke he’d bought more out of boredom than anything, and threw the rest back. You know what? Screw politeness, and screw John Hart. He could just—

An arm draped over his shoulders and the thick smell of 51st century pheromones enveloped him.

Well then.

Speak of the devil.

“Excuse me ladies,” Ianto caught the smile out of the corner of his eye, “can I just—yeah.” John pulled himself to Ianto’s other side.

“Whew, four for you? Well done Eye Candy—” Ianto wondered if Hart even remembered what his actual name was, “—But I’ve got something better on hand. Now, you could go with this lot, _or_ ,” a wicked grin split his face, and Ianto felt sexually harassed just looking at it, “Triplets.” Ianto looked at him blankly.

“Triplets.”

“Triplets! Triplets Eye Candy! Look, here they come.”

And triplets did indeed make their way through the crowd, and of course they were all startlingly handsome, and of course they all looked as interested as Hart did at the thought of Ianto joining them.

But…

Ianto shook his head.

“You go on ahead, I think I’ll skip the orgy, thanks.”

Hart’s grin was, if possible, even filthier.

“Oh Eye Candy, you don’t even know how far from an orgy this is to my standards.”

Ianto shook his head again, rolling his eyes, and shoved slightly at Hart’s shoulder.

“Yes, yes, of course Mr. 51st Century Man, go and have not-orgies without me. I think I’ll manage. Just don’t go hopping into my bed with any of them—and that means the entire apartment.”

And with that John Hart grinned, winked, and disappeared into the masses.

“Faaaaaaaaaahhhhk!” Ianto blinked, and turned around. Cleavage Girl was leaning heavily on Accent Girl, pouting at him. Accent Girl seemed a bit shell shocked.

“Why are all the cute ones fucking. _Gay_.”

Ianto rolled his eyes.  
“Have to say being gay’s the least of my problems. Anyway, pleasure to meet you all, but that’s my cue to head out…”

“Hey, wait, mind taking a picture with us? C’mon, we’ve got to get all the touristy stuff all done with.”

Ianto held in a sigh, but submitted to having camera flashes in his face. It wasn’t like it was out of place with the strobe lighting.

When he finally (FINALLY!) made it outside, the cool air was a relief on his face.

He took a deep breath. Held it. Let it out.

Who’d have thought that Hart could be just as exhausting _without_ blowing up half of Cardiff?

He shook his head again, feeling like he’d been doing that a lot lately, and set off at a slow jog back to his place.

Hart better not have brought his triplets back to his Flat/Apartment/Lair.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Owen frowned at his results.

After the little shit storm that happened after he’d told Gwen and Tosh about the irregularities of Ianto’s blood, he’d gone back and started a new range of tests.

Fuck, but times like these he could use someone who knew a little bit more about medicine. Gwen could dole out suggestions for investigative work like you wouldn’t believe, but she didn’t know enough about medicine to be of any real help here. Owen wasn’t _looking_ for anything here—hell, he’d already _found_ something.

He just wasn’t sure what to make of it.

He scrubbed fingers through his hair and scowled at his equipment. If he were looking into this as if it were _alien_ matter, this would be something else entirely.

When he’s doing tests on alien blood, on alien DNA, he’s looking for specific markers and reactions, looking for something to help him parse out how their bodies work.

Weevils, for example, were made up of very solid materials, their makeup strangely high electrolyte count, and their blood showed high amounts of iron and calcium—likely from their highly carnivorous diets.

But Ianto’s blood…

Well, it was showing all the hallmarks of being human, so most of his suspicions of him possibly being an alien were moved aside. He was a little low in iron, but otherwise his CBC levels were fine, but other than finding out that Tea boy wasn’t in risk of any sort of Coronary Heart disease, there was nothing there to explain what the fuck was going on with his cells.

He thought he’d probably be able to do more with more DNA, like a hair sample or a mouth swab, but they couldn’t exactly find Tea Boy to fucking get it, now could they?

Tosh was looking into the CCTV of the area, but was apparently having a hard time of keeping track of him between one street and the next.

Fucking Tea Boy…

Owen wanted him to get his fucking act together already and make his way back to them—if he could bloody well find his way into the Torchwood servers, he could bloody well make his way back to Torchwood itself.

And how the hell did he not notice that he and Tosh were back?

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

When Ianto wakes the next morning there is a great gaping place behind his ribs and twisting his guts, and he cusses John Hart out as he buried his face in his pillow.

Fuck John Hart and his willingness to cuddle.

Fuck him for showing up at all.

Fuck him for showing up when Ianto was drunk enough to think sleeping with him was a good idea.

(Or at least not a _bad_ idea.)

And fuck him for reawakening Ianto to the fact that he was really fucking _lonely_.

Ianto hadn’t really been a tactile person in general before Torchwood—before Torchwood Three. He could get by on slumping against friends, getting what he could from relationships, and by taking advantage of clingy drunk friends…

And then Torchwood Three happened, and Ianto got used to cuddling with Jack before and after sex and all the spaces in-between, and cuddling with Tosh on the couch, and amicable back slaps and causal touches from Owen and Gwen…

And now he was just really fucking…

He rolled onto his belly and hid his head underneath his pillow. Stayed that way, cocooned in blankets, hoping the feeling would go away.

Fuck John Hart.

Fuck Ianto for enjoying waking up cuddled up to someone. Fuck him for enjoying the feel of leg hair brushing against his own, for hearing a heart beating under his ear, for feeling so goddamned _touch starved_ now—

Jackie climbed up onto his back and started purring, a warm weight. Ianto sighed and shifted so his head was no longer hidden, and—

“AAAH!”

—Jumped when he came face to glassey-eyed face with a dead pigeon. He scrambled out of bed, tripping on the tangle of his sheets, and completely ignored the offended look Jackie was giving him to have a full-body shiver and try to get his heart out from the vicinity of his throat.

_“Fuck.”_

He pressed his palms into his eyes and did his best to calm down, taking deep breaths and reminding himself that Jackie did it because she thought she was providing for him, not because she wanted to freak him out, not because she was feeling particularly macabre, and really, Ianto would feel guilty later if he strangled her. If he just—

No.

No.

Ianto breathed, and gave one last shudder, before grabbing a air of rubber gloves and removing the fowl corpse from his bed.

He changes the water for the kittens, and feels _really_ tired of cats.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

He changes that thought to being really tired of cats and _people_ when, later, he makes his way up to the roof a couple of blocks away from his Apartment, and finds a jumper there—

Well, he would have been a jumper, if he hadn’t been startled at seeing Ianto there, but instead he startles and rushes past Ianto to the access door.

The suicidal prick shoves him out of the way hard enough to send him over the edge, and Ianto doesn’t even feel a little bit bad when the man pales at the sight of Ianto getting up from a splash of blood and brain matter on the concrete, only scowls at him and strides down the street.

Fucking prick.

He went off in search of food, determined to _not_ enjoy the three burgers he would have to choke down to blunt his appetite… with the way his day was going he wouldn’t even make it all the way to the diner before dying again.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto gets half way to the diner before realizing that he’s one, in a suit, and two, much closer to his little Secret Lair than he is to the diner.

Now, being in a suit is normally not a bad thing, but when you considered that it was fairly early in the morning and he was once again a child (10, he thought), he was more likely to be quietly reported to the police as a missing child than anything…

And really, he was just asking for trouble going out to eat.

So he sighed, shook his head, and turned down a side street to head back home.

Fucking fantastic way to start his day.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Tosh scowled and worked through the oncoming cramp in her hand.

 _The problem_ , she thought, typing furiously, _with being dead for more than half a year is that it’s damnably hard to stay ahead of the game when you’re busy catching up_.

She’d been delighted when she’d found how far programming had gotten in the time she’d been ‘gone’, not quite understanding the full reality of being behind the times in the tech world. Not yet.

She’d somehow managed to keep ahead when it came to protective programming; her firewalls soared high above the rest, and she’d been able to fan the flames even higher with what she’d learned in the interim…

But her hacking was lagging.

She frowned, and almost lost the trail—there, _there_ , following…

If this had been happening last year, she would have had the people holding Ianto by the throat by now.

If this were happening a year ago, she would have at _least_ had an idea of where their servers were by now.

As it was, she was so busy chasing them down, so busy trying to keep an eye on their code, fairly scrambling in their wake, she couldn’t even spare a thought to finding their source.

Her eyes widened.

“No, no, nononono _no_ … _fuck_!”

Tosh pushed the keyboard away from her with a clatter. It fell off the edge of the desk, and hung by the chord

“ _Fuck_! Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!”

“Hey, isn’t that usually my line?” Owen came around the corner, tablet in hand and clipboard under his arm. He looked startled.

She thought that she would be embarrassed at her outburst any other time, but at the moment she was just _so frustrated_ —

She pursed her lips and scowled at Owen, letting out a frustrated breath through her nose.

“I can’t—I can’t _catch_ them! It’s just not working! _I’m_ not working! I just can’t catch these guys! And they got Ianto and—!”

“Hey, hey, hey! Calm down, alright?  We will get the guys who… did _whatever_ they did to Ianto. And Ianto’s not with them anymore, right?”

Tosh gnashed her teeth, but nodded.

“Right, so what we need to be focusing on right now is _finding_ Tea-Boy, and finding out _what happened_ to him…  You’ve got the face recognition software going, so we’re doing what we can for finding him.” Owen gave her a reassuring look, and smiled when she nodded.

She turned back to her workstation, pulling her keyboard back onto the table.

It was still frustrating… but she supposed Owen was right in this.

Turning her mind to reconfiguring the Rift sensors, she smiled slightly.

Of course it took Owen dying twice for him to unearth his social skills.  

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto scowled at the schematics of Tyra Shaw’s building.

Well bloody hell.

 _If she had the money for a condo like this, she should’ve just_ moved _to get the money_ , he thought uncharitably. He considered just leaving her to her own devices… or better yet, report her. Anonymously, of course. Give them a reason to pay attention to their own funding. _More_ attention.

He gets a sort of vicious pleasure at the thought, thinks _well that’s what you get for getting greedy because I still can’t see what the_ fuck _you need the money for_ , and thinks it’s okay because it wasn’t like he was going to take the money away from her Aunt’s care. It would be okay. It would be fine.

… It would be totally based on the fact that Ianto was in a bad mood. And he would regret it later.

Probably.

(Most likely.)

Ianto sighed.

_Fine._

Fine.

Mini pulled up the specs of the building, and all the ridiculous security inside.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Gwen placed her hand over her belly when another Braxton Hicks contraction hit her. She couldn’t wait for this being pregnant deal to be over…

When she’d first felt the contractions, she’d been certain that she was going through labor. It was uncomfortable, a spasm of all her abdominal muscles, and she’d been terrified. She’d been nowhere near 9 months when they started.

It was hard to believe that these were normal.

She snorted lightly to herself. Goes to show that there were still strange _human_ things around to keep her busy…

The thought didn’t keep her from missing being out in the field any less.

She thought longingly of the one-day pregnancy from so long ago—well, she didn’t miss the fact that it was supposed to end with her being eaten, not that part at all, but…

It would be convenient to have such a short amount of time to be pregnant.

A clang from the kitchen attracted her attention; Rhys fixing the pipes.

She looked contemplatively towards the doorway.

Wouldn’t it be nice, too, to have the one-day pregnancy, and then not even have to go through it _yourself_. Just bite someone and let him or her deal with it. For the day, at least.

She shook her head with a smile.

No… Any and all biting would be happening singularly to Rhys, and then it would be _without_ the intent of making babies.

“Oh!” Gwen winced as another contraction hit, hands back on her belly, and frowned. Checked the clock on the wall.

Well that happened a bit sooner than she’d thought…

She looked at her belly, and shrugged.

Turned her thoughts back to Torchwood, as they inevitably did lately.

Tosh was getting frustrated trying to catch the people who had Ianto, at least digitally, and Owen was getting annoyed at the blood samples.

Last she’d heard from him on that is that the samples were somehow getting energy from their surroundings—absorbed the heat in the air, the light Owen shined on it to look at it clearly… He said he likely wouldn’t have noticed it if it weren’t for the temperature gage they’d had installed in the Autopsy bay.

She grinned, thinking of Owen grumping about how chilly he was getting, likely complaining about the people from UNIT messing with the AC.

Because one of the good _and_ bad things about a secret underground base is that it’s always chilly…

They’d fixed it, some, by covering most of the concrete walls in the common areas with drywall and a sort of perpetually dry insulation, but the medical and autopsy bay was all done in tile, for an easier clean up.

She smiled again, and looked up when Rhys came back into the room, carrying a tray of sandwiches.

She ought to remind him that Tosh and Owen were coming over later that evening to give her an update on what had happened that day… Owen had mentioned that he had something to suggest, but would likely need it to be said in person, so—

“Oh!”

She clutched her belly again, and looked wide-eyed at Rhys.

Looked at the clock.

Back to Rhys.

Didn’t contractions like this start to happen in regular intervals, like 30-40 minutes in-between, right before—

“I think I’m in labor.”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto patted his pocket to make sure Mini was securely settled inside, and walked to the doors of Mae’r Brehinol—a ridiculous name, but then, apparently just calling it The Royal wasn’t pretentious enough until it was translated roughly into Welsh.

Well, a ridiculous name for a ridiculously secure building…

He had to wait until there was a large enough crowd passing by the front of the building to go forward, scrunching his face to look the picture of Distressed Child… he briefly wondered what he would do if he didn’t look like a child right then, but put it out of his mind.

Because if he wasn’t in the body of an eight year old, then he would be able to talk his way in much easier.

“Hello there.”

Ianto ducked his chin and looked up at the security guard, shame faced.

“Sorry, but d’you have a loo I could use? My mum’ll shame me if I ruin this…” he gestured to his clothing under his open jacket.

He was pretty lucky that he’d woken up from his fall in a horrifyingly adorable miniature suit… it was a good cut, don’t get him wrong, and the fabric was a sturdy, smooth kind with enough stretch to allow for easier movement—it was exactly the sort of thing he would buy for Torchwood wear…

But it was all in miniature.

Instead of making a statement somewhere along the lines of being confident and well put together, it instead said ‘ _I got forced into this, me mam thinks I’m adorable_.’

The guard apparently thought so, too… he still looked conflicted though.

“Look, I’m sorry little man, but you see, I’m not really…”

Ianto glanced around him, looking for something else to mention to make the guard let him in. What made people hurry their children inside? What made people—oh. _Oh this is brilliant._

Ianto had never before been happy to see a pair of Thugs in the crowd as he was now.

He glanced at them nervously, and looked back up at the guard.

Gestured for him to lean down for a moment, and pursed his lips when he did, putting on a Serious Child face.

“My mum,” he said in a low tone, “also said to find someone in uniform if I was offered sweets by strangers…” He waited for the guard to glance at him, frowning, before nodding in the direction of the two Thugs. “They also have a big black van.”

When Ianto was hurried inside, and the guard was talking into his radio and keeping an eye on the Thugs, he tugged at the older mans pants leg.

“Can I go to the loo now?”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Rhys went to set up the baby seat in the car while Gwen rung Tosh and Owen.

“Y-yes, hello? Gwen? Hello? Sorry, Owen, you need to turn left at the next turn, they’re heading North. Sorry Gwen, we’ve got a small group of Weevils to take care of, is there something you… no, no, Owen, I take that back, take the left after that one, _yes_ , I _know_ …”

“Yes, sorry Tosh, Rhys and I are just heading to the A&E, I’ve been having regular contractions—”

“Owen they should be just ahead—wait. Gwen, you’re having your baby now? But the due date is in three days! Is that—yes, Owen, I know, I’m just hearing this from her now—hold on, Gwen?  How far apart are your contractions?”

“Oof, about 30 minutes apart. Rhys is just getting the car ready…”

“Thirty minutes, they’re just getting ready to leave for the A&E… Gwen, look, we’ll just finish this up and get over there as soon as possible, alright?”

“Tosh, just focus on the Weevils right now… Rhys’ll keep you updated, okay? Now look, we’re heading out now, so  I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay, we’ll get there as soon as we’re able—Owen, to your right—!”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

It’s not very hard to get away from the guard, not with the man being more worried about people (more specifically the two Thugs he’d pointed out) coming in than on who is already inside the building…

Ianto supposes this is the other side of the coin for secure buildings like this; you got confident in your security that you think that hey, if you get past the first line of defense, there’s no way you got past the ones after that.

Especially, he thought, with everything having a hair-trigger alarm attached to it.

He waited until he could get into an elevator on his own—easy to do, as there were several small elevators designed for single person use—and pulled out Mini when he had the chance.

There was a small USB plug-in, used to update and change certain passcodes and make sure that stolen cards won’t work, and he doesn’t have to do much more than plug it in.

The building didn’t have anything so extravagant as retinal sensors, or scanners for your hand print, but in order to get into the building you had to scan the service-provided ID. To get the elevator to go anywhere, you had to use a separate card and, in some cases, use a code to unlock the floor.

Then, because there obviously wasn’t enough security by that point, you also had your own key for your room. Doors and windows had alarms set in case of breaking and entering, and each came with their own deadbolt for the truly security-conscious tenant.

There was a small tone, and Ianto unplugged Mini from the wall to go back in his pocket, feeling the elevator start moving.

Really, if he weren’t in a mood he’d probably be pretty happy with all this.

It was ridiculous, all the security, but it made him feel like he was in a James Bond film…

_Jones, Ianto Jones. Shaken, not stirred, but he’d prefer a good cup of coffee. Roasted home blend, not commercialized._

He grinned, and shook his head.

He should find the time to revisit his favorite movies, maybe download the books.

The elevator slowed to a stop.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Gwen practices her breathing exercises in the waiting room, feeling an annoyed sort of relief. She was having her baby. It was fantastic. She would be a real, live, not just pregnant… mother.

She was going to be a mummy.

She started to grin, but was interrupted before it fully formed by a long contraction.

Bugger these things!

These contractions were too erratic to brace against!

Rhys went up to the desk to ask about when she could be looked at—and while Gwen thought it was sweet of him to go and ask again, and she understood that she wasn’t in any risk of having her baby immediately until her water breaks and she’s having steady contractions, she’d actually prefer him to be lose by so she can complain at him.

Because she was uncomfortable, her ankles hurt, her abdomen was aching from the contractions, and that’s not even getting into the ache that was already in her lower back, and these waiting room chairs were doing absolutely nothing for her! She was in labor! She thought if she couldn’t just have the baby already she ought to at least have her husband close by to complain to!

Her phone was in her hand before she finished the thought, and when the call went through it was Owen who picked up.

“Gwen? What is— _bloody buggering fuck_ —!” there was a snarl in the background, and a sound like static—probably Weevil spray—and then a thumping noise. Owen apparently got the Weevil then. She hoped that meant they’d be on their way soon.

“Are you two going to be heading down soon then?” She wanted to ask about the Weevil, but she couldn’t exactly do that in a crowded waiting room, so she left it unsaid.

“Buggerin—sorry, no Gwen, we’ve got a bit of a mass break out happening—Tosh, make up your bloody mind, choose one and we’ll go after it, stop changing targets, you know this…. Look, Gwen, how far along are your contractions at?”

Gwen thought back and checked the clock.

“Still at about 40 minutes or so. They aren’t very regular, either. My water hasn’t even broken yet… Rhys and I are just in the waiting room now.”

“Yes, well, you are early—no, _fuck_ —but then hardly anyone ever sticks to their due date, so—dammit! Give me a minute Tosh, I’ve been running all goddamn night! Gwen’s just at the hospital now, she’s alright—look, Gwen, you calling because you’re bored or d’you actually need something right this instant? Right this Weevil filled instant?”

Gwen huffed.

“Well sorry Owen, if my being in labor, if my having a baby is interrupting you, I was just— _oooooooooooohhhhhhhhh_ , oh, oh, _ooooooohhhh_ —!”

The phone clattered to the ground as another contraction hit, this one lasting ages and ages and ages, and she thought, this is what having a baby feels like, _this is what’s happening, I’m having a baby **right now** , right in the waiting room, should I be lying down—_

It’s a relief when it stops, and a bit of a surprise that no, her baby hadn’t just come out.

A bit of a surprise, and also a bit of a disappointment.

Oh, that’s not it then?

Rhys is rubbing her shoulder, her belly, sliding a hand between her and the chair to rub her back, and she smiles at him. Oh, she didn’t deserve him.

“I’m alright, I’m alright…”

The woman seated next to her shifts, eyeing her like she’s expecting Gwen to up and die right next to her in any moment, and a small flare of annoyance bursts in her chest.

She was _pregnant_! What did people think happened when women were ready to _stop_ being pregnant!?

 **God** she was ready to stop being pregnant… She was never dealing with this again.

She remembers that she was on the phone with Owen when a nurse bends to pick up her phone and hands it to her, but when she holds it to her ear the dial tone is all that greets her.

Well, Owen and Tosh were busy, anyway. She lets Rhys distract her with the latest tales his receptionist Gina had gleaned from the gossip branch, and tries to relax.

They’d get to the A&E soon enough.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

He rapped on the door three times and stepped back.

(He was here to leave a message, not sell her something.)

There was a rustling sound inside, and after a few metallic clicks and a sliding sound of a chain lock the door was opened a crack.

The face of Tyra Shaw peeked through the opening, confused and suspicious, and even more so when she catches sight of Ianto.

“Hello?”

Ianto smiles placidly at her, the same sort of smile he gave people at the tourist office when they asked about any and all strange happenings around the area.

I’m your friend here, and I also happen to be the messenger.

“Tyra Shaw?”

Though he knows it’s her, he asks anyway for politeness’ sakes.

He’d thought of all the ways this could go down—hell, he’d had to. As frustrated as he’d been for the past whoever knew how long anymore, he knew there were some things that just didn’t go down well…

And one of those things would be to start demanding answers.

So he didn’t start off the conversation with “Why are you still embezzling?” and he didn’t start with “You know, I’d thought we’d agreed that stealing wasn’t worth it when I gave you the money,” and he most certainly didn’t come out with the most pressing concern of his, with a nice “Tell me why you’re doing it!”

Because Ianto knew how people’s minds worked.

It was why he was so good at clean up.

It meant he could get into Tosh’s or Owen’s or Gwen’s mindset and put their things away where it would make sense, it meant that he could clean up around Jack’s intentional mess and keep him from feeling like his space was being invaded.

It meant that when he had to clean up information, he knew the sorts of questions that would be asked and the sorts of places people would look.

Now, he’s looking as Tyra Shaw frowns and nods at him, pulling her door farther open and knew what she was thinking.

Knows that when she heard the knock, she was startled and confused, because you had to send confirmation to the security guards on the main floor to buzz anyone in, had to put in the code to let the elevator bring them up, and because of all the security, any other time there’s a knock on the door it means that there’s a problem.

And so Tyra Shaw is cautious.

She opens the door and instead of seeing her building or floor manager, she sees Ianto—a regrettably cute kid in a suit.

And so Tyra Shaw is confused, and taken off guard.

She’s made more cautious.

Topping the situation off is Ianto’s knowledge of her as a cynic, of her inability to deal with things outside of a certain set of social rules, and so, Ianto-as-a-child is not going to be taken seriously as a main player.

Instead, he has to act as Ianto-the-child-sent-in-Older-Ianto’s-place…

It helped that he’d actually signed that e-mail he’d sent to the three embezzlers—it would lend him credence to be supposedly quoting from the faceless ‘Jones’ rather than from the faceless, nameless figure of intrigue he’d originally thought to play.

And Jones was nice and clear and not as full of movie references as Smith would.

So he smiles.

“Hello, I’m here for a…” what was he? A friend? Accomplice? “… For an employer of mine.”

“Aren’t you a little young?” Tyra Shaw raised her eyebrows, looking him up and down. No doubt thinking of the ways to make sure he wasn’t being taken advantage of—for all that she’s made bad decisions (read: embezzling for no discernable reason), information suggests that she’s got a soft spot for children.

Ianto’s smile widened.

“Just think of me as a delivery boy.”

“Oh? And what are you delivering?” Another searching look.

“A message.”

When he didn’t say anything more than that, she rolled her eyes.

“And what would this message _be_? And from whom?” She crossed her arms, looking wearily amused.

Ianto knew it was childish, the way he was going about things, but if he were too adult about this she would get alarmed. Alarmed and resistant. Best to have her as relaxed as possible before making it obvious that he knew about the embezzling, and that he would (or rather, ‘Jones’ would) have to report her if she continued.

So he grinned at her, childish and sharp, and gave her a wink. 

“Oh, I think you know what the message is already, Ms. Shaw. And you’ve certainly heard from my employer before.”

He folded his hands behind his back, and rocked on his heels. He waited her out, waited for her brows to furrow, for her to take a small step back, for that creeping realization to sink in, and then raised an eyebrow at her.

“Now, what does the name Jones mean to you?”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Owen gripped his arm tight as the Weevil goes down, swearing a blue streak as he feels exactly how deep the bloody cut is.

Damn Weevils, how can they have gotten both stupider and smarter in the time he’s been dead? Bloody buggering aliens… Bloody buggering aliens who now come out en masse.

And bloody buggering pregnant women!

Of fuck’s sakes, why was she calling? She was bored! Of course she was! Her water hadn’t even broken yet! Bloody buggering fucking hell Jesus Christ almighty and _fuck_ did it hurt!

He scowled and barked at Tosh to come pick him and the last Weevil up, and to have the damn medikit ready because like fuck he was letting infection set in.

Bloody woman…

Pregnant or not you don’t bloody well start screaming into the comms when there are bloody Weevils about!

Tosh pulled the SUV up to the head of the alleyway, and in a moment he had the medikit open and was ripping an antiseptic wipe open with his teeth.

“Help me get this thing off.” Tosh tugged at his sleeve as he wiggled his shoulder free, ignoring the throbbing pain the action produced, instead cleaning the cut.

Weevils lived in the sewers for the most part… the amount of diseases that could be working through his blood stream right now…

He grimaced, and did his best to stitch the cut one handed, fumbling with the needle and thread the first few times before he got into the rhythm of it.

They were crooked, and he’d likely pull them before they got back to the Hub, but they’d do.

From the look on Tosh’s face, she knew that he needed more care than they could spare right then, more than a few stitches and a bandage, but they still had two Weevils hanging about.

They still had a long night ahead of them…

They shared a look, both thinking the same thing.

They were running themselves ragged, and even after Gwen has her baby, she’ll be off duty.

If they wanted to keep up with all the crap the Rift threw at them, they needed help.

They needed Jack, really, but with no bloody clue where he’d gone off to, they were left with one other option.

Owen grimaced, and it wasn’t even because of the way his stitches were tugged as he helped haul a freshly sprayed Weevil to the back of the SUV.

Torchwood wouldn’t be able to run on a techie, a doctor, and a new mum.

 _Fuck_ he hated training newbies.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto whistled ‘mission impossible’ as he headed down the street, feeling content.

His somewhat one-sided conversation with Tyra Shaw had gone exactly as well as he’d hoped. And he was mostly certain she wouldn’t try embezzling again.

He’d known that if he’d come out and said that he’s willing to help her out with any financial trouble she’d balk—instead he’d hinted and hedged around the idea that the oh so mysterious ‘Jones’ already knew about what she was embezzling for (a lie), and that if she didn’t stop he would no longer consider her worth helping…

Not quite as blatant a threat as that, but he’d been sure to be clear that if she didn’t stop she’d be reported.

He did wonder what she’d been embezzling for—he couldn’t quite come out and ask, no matter how curious he was, and though he didn’t quite want to believe she was doing it to pad her pocket…

Well, he thought he’d give her the benefit of the doubt.

Getting out of her building was easier than getting in, though he’d almost been held back by the guard who’d originally let him in.

He didn’t see Ianto get off of the elevator, but he’d obviously been looking for him.

“Kid, you can’t just wander off like that.” he’d said, looking exasperated and worried and fond all at once.

Ianto had tried to look suitably chastened, before ‘spotting’ something outside.

“Oh, look! My mam’s over there! With my sister!”

He pointed through the glass to where a harried looking woman with a 5 year old girl went into the boutique across the street.

“Your sister, huh?”

Ianto grinned.

“Yeah, Rhi’s great. She’s always up for playing a game with me,” he said this with Rhi firmly in mind, thinking of when they’d used to get into all sorts of trouble when they were kids, using each other as alibis. Something of the mischief must have shown on his expression because the guard chuckled.

“Ah, you must drive your mum mad.”

Ianto smoothed his expression out.

Who, me?

The guard guffawed and ruffled his hair. “You better get over to her, she looks worried sick. I already sent Corey to deal with the guys offerin’ you sweets, so you shouldn’t have to worry, but you should get to her quick, yeah?”

Ianto nodded and said thank you, crossing the street when it’s safe and making his way to the boutique. He glanced back at the condo and grinned at the guard. Yep. Still looking after him.

Fine.

Ianto sighed and went inside.

The woman he’d turned into his ‘mother’ was facing away, so the guard didn’t see the puzzled smile she gave him when he stopped in front of her. Not quite the look a worried mother would give her wayward son.

“Sorry miss, but my friend, just there,” he pointed to the security guard stationed inside the building, “he wanted me to tell you that you’re looking beautiful today.”

She looked startled, and pleased, flushing under the praise.

“Oh, why, thank you. Why did he send you?”

Ianto grinned, letting his eyes crinkle.

“He’s supposed to be guarding that building, see, and he would have come over himself if he were allowed… but he couldn’t let you get away without knowing how amazing you looked, so he asked me to come over instead.” Ianto said this in that lilting way that children have when reciting back what someone else said to them, and waved at the guard again.

The lady flushed again, looking down at her daughter, and waved too.

The guard waved back.

Ianto looked down at the little girl only to find her looking back at him, head tilted to the side. Ianto looked down at her boots. And crouched.

“He also asked me to let you know that you are looking _fabulous_ today as well.”

She looked at him with wide eyes. “Really?”

“Oh yes. He said he’d never seen red boots as fine as those. You are _Fabulous_.”

She flushed, and giggled, and the girls mother gave him a warm smile, smoothing down his hair.

“Oh, you are a dear.”

“No problem, miss.”

Ianto bade her farewell, and loitered at the front of the store until a large enough crowd passed in front of the doors to slip out from, and made his way home.

Things were certainly looking up from where they were earlier this morning. Maybe it would turn out to be a good day after all.

He breathed in beep, and snatched up a discarded newspaper from a bench. It was slightly damp, a coffee stain across the front, but the heading was clear enough to read.

“Schmoker’s Smoking Gun Revealed…”

Ianto’s eyebrows rose as he read the first part of the article, and he smiled.

A good day indeed.

He folded the paper under his arm, and thought about writing another blog post.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

John Hart stretched, shifting the tangle of limbs around him.

Sitting up and looking at the flesh around him, the soft curves and hard lines, he has to admit that the 21st century isn’t all that bad. 2057 was a riot, way better than the 1970’s, with better drugs, and though this part of the 21st century Earth didn’t have Fly or Glow or any of the other fun stimulants, he could see why Jack stuck around…

The memory of sculpted muscle, the filthy, _filthy_ way Welsh fell from talented lips and tongue, the twist and clench and stretch of skin…

John grinned. His dick gave a feeble twitch, but not everyone had a chance to relive their teenage refractory rate.

He could definitely see why Jack’d stayed in this time for so long.

He was half-tempted to go find that stellar piece of Eye Candy and take him away with him—because _goddess_ would he be a hit on Darta’’’ng with that tongue.

With those _vowels_ , _ngh_.

How many times did he wish he could feel vibrations in the air on his skin like they were touches, because having Eye Candy gasping out in that language—

Oh, to be a few years younger, then he could get it up again.

He thought again of Eye Candy’s building, his arse, the delightful toysand coded papers on the walls…

Shook his head. Eye Candy was in trouble, and not the sort he wanted to get caught up in.

He had his fun, and now he had to go find some more.

Outside, he straightens the cuffs of his Hussar Jacket and casually puts in the coordinates to the nearest space bar in his vortex manipulator.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto clicked ‘post’ and leaned back in his chair.

This was good.

This was very good.

Blogging was good.

He still wrote everything down in his journal, but this blogging thing, writing his thoughts on a subject and putting it out for the public…

It was oddly freeing.

He knew he hadn’t written about much, first a post about him starting a blog, then one about his cat(s), and now one on an article in the newspaper, but he felt a weird sense of excitement moments before posting.

He was interacting with the public, and he didn’t have to lie or hedge around things or… well, he did have to avoid writing about Torchwood and the alien parts of his life, but if he wanted to he could write about anything.

It was oddly freeing.

It was nice that the Internet had no expectations.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Jack ordered another shot and contemplated how he wanted his night to go down.

Alcohol poisoning had gotten old, and though he hadn’t thought he could ever get tired of dying form too much sex, he always got a bad case of cottonmouth afterwards.

Not to mention the number of awkward morning after conversations, with the other participant(s) taking his survival as a challenge, and Jack being more than half convinced to stay and prove them wrong…

He’d been banned from just about every extreme sporting even of this time, due to his extreme lack of self-preservation. Apparently the other ‘extreme’ participants got freaked out when he participated however he wanted.

He sighed into the dregs of his drink, and nearly choked when a hand clapped on his shoulder.

“Jack! I thought I’d never see you off that little mudball of a planet! Mind, I just came from visiting and whew, I can see why you were willing to stay! I mean, Eye Candy is gorgeous, but he is so much better in the sack—”

And Jack Harkness punched John Hart in the face.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Tosh and Owen were waiting for Gwen when she got back from the hospital, having gotten text from Rhys saying “False Alarm, meet us at the house.”

Tosh felt bad for Gwen… she was probably so excited about having her baby, and then to find out that it’s a false labor… well she’s probably dealing with a lot f thoughts.

She was early after all, though, so maybe it would be better for her if it waited a bit… though Tosh knew Gwen was getting tired of not being able to work out on the field.

Gwen looked remarkably calm when she hobbled through the door.

“So, false labor, not unexpected—Owen, you’re bleeding on my couch.”

“Tch, yeah, no thanks to you. We got the Weevils, two dead, three down in holding, and when you started screaming on the comms one got me…”

He trailed off, and their eyes met.

_You want to bring it up?_

_No, you._

_What? Why do I have to?_

_Fine._

“…Look, Gwen, we were thinking… Torchwood isn’t going to survive with just the three of us… and with Jack gone… and you’re going to be looking after a baby…”

“We need more people.”

She blinked at them, surprised.

Tosh gave Owen a look, but he half-shrugged and returned it.

_You were taking too long._

“Someone with some medical training, preferably… now that we don’t have someone who can come back to life, we can’t have me going out all the time. Hell, if we could get more people, we won’t need to send everyone out every time there’s a Weevil loose.”

Gwen frowned, but nodded.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

As soon as Owen and Tosh left, Gwen resettled herself on the couch.

Took a deep breath, let it out.

Rhys looked at her, weariness in every line of his body.

“Gwen?”

She took a deep breath—

And burst into tears.

_“I’m going to be pregnant forever!”_

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Punch.

Jab.

“Whoa, so that’s how it’s going to be—”

_“Don’t—talk—about him—”_

Kick, dodge.

Break table over head.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s not like Eye Candy broke up with you—”

“Shut up, just _shut up_ —”

Throw chair, follow up with kick to diaphragm.

Wheeze.

Try to breath through follow up punch to the throat.

 “C’mon Jackie boy, you’re acting like the man died!”

Wheeze angrily.

Try to get up.

“Heh, I dunno why you left Eye Candy though… oh, if only I knew how good Welsh sounded between the sheets years ago…”

Stumble.

Wheeze in confusion and anger.

“W-what?” Cough.

“Oh don’t tell me Eye Candy never spoke Welsh to you in the throes of pass—”

“No, no, how do you—that shouldn’t be…” trail off.

War with grief and confusion.

“When was this?”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

 **To** : eBake@ikrcorp.co.uk, hm@jones.co.uk

 **From** : tyshaw@lolinc.co.uk

 **Subject** : JONES CONTACTED ME

**Message:**

_I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO; I NEED TO TALK TO YOU._

_PLEASE, CAN WE MEET THE SAME PLACE AS BEFORE? ANY TIME. ANY TIME AT all._

_Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize that caps lock was on._

_If you could get back to me as soon as possible, that would be appreciated._

_Tyra Shaw_

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Hank frowned at the screen. Really? When Jones decides to contact them again, he contacts _her_? Psssh!

He wasn’t jealous. Not at all.

“Honey, your brother’s here!”

He gave the screen one last glance and headed for the front room.

“Willy! How’s therapy?”

His little bro gave him a flat glance from over Charlie and Erik’s heads, hauling the giggling boys up in the air. He’d hated that Hank started calling him it after his last girlfriend.

(“Hey Willy, would you—l”

“Will. Don’t call me Willy.”

“Hey, yeah, you can’t call Willy Willy unless you’re his older brother.”

“No, you can’t call me Willy either.”

“What are you talking about? It’s my nickname for you!”

“You have never, even when we were little, ever called me Willy before.”

“Whatever you say Willy.”

And now it was a thing.)

“What do you think?” Will raised his eyebrows at him, and slowly put his boys down.

Hank would have been worried about him dropping Erik, except that his physiotherapy really _was_ doing him a lot of good. He didn’t have all his muscle tone back, but the damage to his arm was repairing. It was getting better every day.

On the ground, his boys immediately started pulling Will’s sleeve, pushing it back and up to see the shiny burn scars around his forearm from three years ago, and tried pushing it up farther to see the still-tender damage on his bicep/shoulder area.

“Hey, Thing One and Two, what do we do when your Uncle Willy comes to visit?”

They immediately put their hands behind their backs, expressions textbook apologetic as they parroted “We don’t see Uncle Wills arm until after we’ve eaten all our dinner.”

“Exactly,” Sherry said, coming up behind him to hand Toni over. “Now go wash up, you’ve got invisible demons all over your hands.”

“Maaaaahhhhhmmmm!” Charlie flapped his hands, but pulled Erik along behind him to go to the bathroom. The Invisible Demons got them every time. Much more interesting than regular old germs.

Will grinned.

“Invisible Demons, huh? And how do _you_ see them, Sher?”

“Don’t you know? I’m a Mum. I see all and know all.”

Hank shifted Toni to his left side so he could throw an arm around Will’s shoulders, careful of his right shoulder.

Hank didn’t exactly try to make light of it, but the wound made protective instincts and anxiety twist up and bubble inside him uncomfortably. It wasn’t red and angry looking any longer, but the places where shrapnel went through were still pink, puffy, and tender looking. It wasn’t something Hank could actually do anything about, aside from helping his brother out financially.

(Fudging his numbers to show Willy so he’d feel comfortable about taking the help wasn’t all that difficult, really.)

He was regaining flexibility in the joint, and he could do all the required motions in his hand, wrist, and elbow… but there wasn’t a day that went by that Hank wasn’t glad that his little brother wouldn’t be able to go out in the field any longer.

 _No more Afghanistan for you_ , he wanted to shake his finger at him.

“So how you doing? Still trying to convince Sherry another litter is necessary?”

Hank laughed and cuffed the back of his head.

“Don’t say that word! Charlie and Erik have been begging for a pet ever since the Callister’s down the road got a p-u-p-p-y. Other than that I’m doing swell. Got a super spy who may or may not be outside of the government sending me money, and I’ve been doing my best to track him down with my nefarious new friend Eunice. Yes she has an old lady name. She doesn’t like the fact brought up. How’re things with you?”

Will pulled him into a headlock, laughing, like Hank thought he would, and dragged him to the kitchen. Hank tucked Toni more firmly into his side, arms around her. Damn Willy for knowing Hank couldn’t do anything like this.

“Oh Sherry, I’d wish you could be married to a guy less prone to fantasy, but then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of being your in-law… A conflict for the ages.”

Sherry, the love of his life, the beating of his heart, turned with a laugh and set Oktoberfest sausages on the table, a smaller plate with regular hotdogs for the boys beside it. “How’s the job search going? You found the right fit yet?”

Hank was finally set free from the dreaded headlock and he cuddled Toni close to him for comfort, murmuring to her about how she would have to grow up nice and strong to protect her daddy from his deodorant-avoiding younger brother as he set her up in her high chair.

“Ah, it hasn’t been going great… It’s hard finding something that’s… engaging, when a year ago I was assisting with field surgery. Working in a walk-in clinic just isn’t what I’m looking for.”

“Aw, c’mon! You’ve got the shoulder, the doctoring… you could be our very own John Watson! We just need to find you a sociopathic genius to follow around and have an epic bromance with, and you’ll be set.”

“Mummy, what’s a bromance?” D’aww, his little boys were growing up so fast! He thought that Erik would probably find his bromantic life partner early in life. Probably in preschool.

“It’s when two boys love each other very much but not in a way that makes then want to be married. You want one hot dog or two?”

Hank looked over his brother, checking for the dark circles that usually meant that insomnia had set in again, and finding only faint smudges.

“You sleeping?” Will

“Yeah… I just want to find something to do. There’s only so much working out and stretching you can do before you get bored out of your mind.”

“Not to mention the fact that you’d like to still fit into your shirts, yeah? Boys, your Uncle Willy’s going to be the Hulk.” Charlie and Erik immediately started flexing their little stick arms, growling in as manly a fashion as their prepubescent little selves could manage. Toni made fists in the air and said “Graaaaw!”

“See? They’re supportive. Still, you should’ve gone into accounting like me… but I wouldn’t worry too much about finding an interesting job. I mean, you’re my brother. You’ll probably get scooped up by an organization to be a super secret spy or something. Witch, you know, isn’t fair at all. You can’t be John Watson, and James Bond.”

Will pat his hand consolingly, a tired smile on his face.

“Don’t worry, you can totally be the Q to my Bond. And not in a bromantic or slashy or whatever way, either,” he quickly added when Hank opened his mouth.

Hank pouted.

Will knew him too well.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

John checked his Vortex manipulator, confused.

Had Jacks gone on the brink then? What had he been doing to it that it couldn’t even tell him the damn _time_?

“43rd of Coriander, or ah, Earth date… 2010. Something or other. You know I can’t deal with months with less than 50 days to it, so uh…” John carried the 7 and subtracted by an oval container… that would make it…

“That’s not possible.”

John glared at him, insulted.

Well Eye Candy hadn’t been interested initially—okay that was a lie, Eye Candy was certainly _interested_ , _thankyouverymuch_ , but he hadn’t been interested in acting on the interest. But without Jack around his quaint little ideas of monogamy weren’t there to interfere, and he’d gotten the pleasure of quite the tongue-lashing.

Eye Candy was full of barbs even as he smoothed over nerves with that tongue of his— _goddess_ the _mouth_ on him.

“Hey, Jack, were you the one to teach him that thing with his tongue, where he…” He trailed off, but the slightly dazed look on Jackie boy’s face said that he knew exactly what John was talking about.

Che, as if he’d ever be able to _forget_ that one.

Jack shook his head.

“No, you see, that’s not possible. Because Ianto… in 2009 he… Ianto died.”

John blinked at him.

And raised his eyebrows.

“Huh, so… it was someone who looked _just_ like him, but younger, who recognized _me_ , who made reference to the _Rift_ , and also named his gorgeous cat after you… nope. If you want to convince me I didn’t shag, and get shagged by Eye Candy, you’ll have to figure some other way to do it.”

John shrugged, resettling his jacket and brushing the dust from his shoulders, and surveyed the ring of observers. Caught the interested eyes of more than a couple, and settled back on Jack.

Poor bugger.

He’d been on that ol’ mudball for too long, if he couldn’t handle someone else digging into his leftovers… though what leftovers they ha been. John grinned.

The expression shifted somewhat into puzzlement at Jack’s poleaxed expression. Huh. Maybe he’d actually thought Eye Candy’d died.

He shook his head.

Still a poor bugger. That was the result of spending so much time on a planet plagued by monogamy.

He turned to rejoin the crowd of bar patrons, aiming for the Sheiba’hb who’d eyed him earlier. Their tails split when they were in their Second Ring of Health, and appreciated the ability to outsmart their opponents more than the ability to physically subdue them… and John had just left Jack reeling from a few words.

 “You better go check your facts, Jack,” he called over his shoulder.

Later, when he gave one last look to the bar, thinking about maybe throwing Jack a bone and offering up a threesome, he didn’t see him.

John shrugged, and nibbled on a pointed ear.

His loss

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious, The case of Dmitri Costa is entirely made up, but inspired by two cases of crimes against transgendered that happened just last year (2012)… Victoria da Silva Costa, was a 21-year-old trans woman living in Brazil, who was murdered in what police considered to be a hate crime, as she was decapitated, with her penis and one ear being cut off.  
> Demetrio Apaza Mayta was tortured, beaten, burned, and stabbed to death by a mob of hundreds of people in El Alto, Bolivia for no reason other than her gender identity. The police claimed that they had no leads and arrested no suspects, although the murder took place in broad daylight.  
> So yeah, it’s cheerful yeah? Don’t we live in a wonderful world. -_-  
> As ever, thanks for all the support, and I hope you enjoyed!  
> Please let me know if I totally screwed Jack (I wish) up… as I *still* haven’t seen season 4, I’m not entirely sure how jaded he is or how like or unlike his usual self he is, so I’ve used my own judgment.  
> Comments are always appreciated! Just no mindless hate please ;)  
> And, again, sorry for the delay, I blame it entirely on Gwen being pregnant and on good drugs.  
> And also on my teeth.  
> Cheers!  
> AN: (Sept 15th/2013) Sorry about the delay for chapter 4, I'm having issues. Words are not coming, and also work, and also social life, but mostly the words aren't coming. I'm a little under the halfway mark right now, and am working on it as I can... but mostly inspiration is happening more for Cybernetic than for this. Sorry for the wait! Please be patient with me, and know that plotty amazingness will be happening as soon as I can manage!


	4. Road I'm On by 3 Doors Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … Sorry!  
> I know. It took forever for me to post this! But, as I wrote in an AN (at least on Ao3, sorry ffn!) updating what’s been happening in my head, with writers block and a lot of plottyness that was getting in the way of this coming out sooner.  
> And also job, and social life, and real life things, but who cares about that stuff?  
> PSSH. Like I have a real life…  
> But I apologize for the lateness, and sorry to all those who thought this was being abandoned… but those people also deserve a slap on the wrist, because, seriously? You think I’ve written a 100k of fic and then ABANDONED IT? This is a serious relationship, and while I may have gotten a bit distracted by my Cybernetic story, and in watching other fandoms, it doesn’t mean I want to break up.  
> srsly guys. srsly  
> Hope you enjoy!  
> (Sorry for being 30 minutes late from my promise to a few of you! When I said 72 hours I meant 72.5! (obviously... kind of.))

 

What first greeted him was the sight of sandy beaches and palm trees.

Also people—many of whom were mostly naked, their skin just about uniformly tanned. Very nice, if a bit clonelike in their attractiveness…

His mind jumped to the time he’d had sex with a group of aliens with a Hive Mind, how all of them looked alike, how one gasp of pleasure was echoed by the many, how a flick of tongue _here_ got a writhing response _there_ , a crook of fingers or flex of his palm would be echoed in sensation through the mass…

He blinked. Refocused on the _now_ … Looked around him, at the stores, the booths… listened. His eyebrows rose.

He looked again, and noticed a tourist booth.

WELCOME TO HOLLYWOOD BEACH, it said.

Huh.

He took a moment for that to sink in.

Hollywood.

Jack supposed he shouldn’t have been so quick to hop on a transporter – any transporter – without looking at the specifics…

Now how to get to Wales?

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

The call Gwen gets, almost 24 hours later, is a shocking one.

It’s 3am, and the baby had been kicking at her bladder and making it hard to breathe, so it’s not like she’s getting a particularly good sleep…

But still.

_3am._

The world had better be ending.

This is what she’s thinking when she picks up the phone.

_“What?”_

“Oh, Gwen? Gwen! Great! Finally! Did you know that there are a lot of Gwen Williams’s out there?”

“Wh— _Jack_?” She can’t believe it, shock rippling through her so hard it hurt, so she says it again.

_“Jack?”_

“Of course!” He says it like it’s no big deal, like it isn’t a surprise that he’s on the phone, like—like—like—

_Oh god. Ianto._

_He doesn’t know._

Grief, worry, and anger hit her all at once like a freight train, and she can’t speak through the hurt of it all. Rhys stirred next to her, mumbling out a question, but all she can hear in that moment is Jack.

“Anyway, I could cobble together the money to get to Cardiff, but I don’t have any cash on me here for a cab… well, I have money, but Wales doesn’t take intergalactic credits, so—”

“Wh—you’re back? Where are you?”

“Cardiff airport.”

He’s at the airport. Bloody hell.

“The airport. You’re at the airport.”

There’s another rippling inside her, and through her shock she figures out what it’s about. It’s a revelation, and absurd, and a relief, and a worry all rolled up into one, and she thumps Rhys’s arm to get his attention.

“Wha…?”

“So if you could just—”

“No, Jack, I can’t. I’m having a baby.”

“You… what? You’re still pregnant? Wasn’t your due date… three days ago? Roughly?”

She stays silent, staring back in the dark into Rhys’s eyes, wide with shock.

 _Really_? His eyes said.

She nodded.

Jack took a moment to absorb that.

“… Is Rhys there with you? Could I get a ride from him?”

“No, because he’s going to be bringing me to the hospital.”

“To the—right now? Oh. OH. Right now? You’re having—right now?”

“Yes, Jack,” she said, as Rhys threw the covers back and ran for his pants. “I’m having a baby. Right now.”

It’s an afterthought to say it, but she does eventually get out “But I will get you a ride. Don’t be shocked, they’re real, they’re who they say they are, and who they look like, and don’t cause a scene,” into Jack’s delighted silence, before hanging up and calling Tosh and Owen.

“Yes, Hello? Tosh? I’m going into labor—yes, _again_ , and hopefully for the last bloody time. I need you and Owen to make a run for me before you do anything though… Tosh, Tosh…yes, _Tosh_ , it’s not—he’s back. Jack’s back. He’s at the airport.”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto has fleshed out his plan as much as he could manage, and still isn’t happy with it.  

That being said, he also can’t see how it could be any better.

He sighed and wished that, in the comic book his life had become, he could have a less competent arch nemesis. It would be wonderful to be able to sneak into a warehouse and know that the Thugs would be substandard, that the security system didn’t have so many backups, that one simply needed to go to the weakest point in their security and be able to get in and out with hardly a hitch in the plan.

Instead, he gets Boss Man.

Boss Man and his ridiculous backup security plans. Backups and deadman’s switches, and triplicate copies of every bloody thing that could be triplicated. The man was far too paranoid for Ianto’s good.

He checked the clock, 3:36am flashed red at him, and exhaustion hit him abruptly.

He’d been able to ignore it for the most part… but above the growing pains, the surreal jumps to emotional extremes, even the hunger between deaths, Ianto found he had the most trouble with figuring out a sleeping schedule.

Children need a certain amount of sleep to be healthy, to grow, to develop as human beings… and Ianto was still, to an extent, used to his most adult memories of getting by on 5 or less hours of sleep.

He thought this was a significant thing to think on, because he really did think it was worse than the hunger of waking up after a death, to a degree.

Not as bad as being killed over and over again for days on end, but still.

He fell into bed, not bothering to change, and thought about the few things he’d have to do before he could head over to Boss Man’s first Warehouse.

He laughed, and his last thought before unconsciousness was to wonder what other people were planning for their Saturday night.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

There isn’t much conversation between Tosh and Owen when they’re on the road to the airport.

Gwen had woken them up with her phone call, and they’d been half-way through getting dressed before they’d registered what she’d said.

That, Tosh thinks, is what they get for rigging up the Rift Monitor to alert through their cell phones…

They’d grabbed coffee before they’d headed out, both needing it after the amount of Weevil activity that’s been happening lately. It was a bit… irritating, she thought, to get the call from Gwen so soon after they’d gotten home. Tosh was functioning on… she did quick mental math, a little over 6 hours of sleep over the past 48 hours, and that was including the naps she’d managed to squeeze in.

“Bloody Harkness, waiting until bloody three o’clock in the fucking morning to make his grand return… Couldn’t he have made his way over, say, three hours ago when we could’ve used him? For fuck’s sakes…”

Owen was working on less.

It kind of showed.

It didn’t help that getting parking went about as well as one can expect, parking at an airport, and then on top of that they had to find their way to the pickup area.

Owen grumbled that they should’ve been able to just go to the driving pick up area, except Gwen had told them it would probably be better to pick him up more… in person.

Tosh tries to imagine how it would go, if they had pulled up in front of Jack in the SUV, and tried to get him to get into the car…

Has to wince, because Tosh really couldn’t imagine Jack _not_ being able to smuggle a gun across the border, and it had been distressing enough having Gwen point a gun at her…

She doesn’t want to imagine what it would be like having Jack treat her like a hostile alien.

As it is, she thinks she’ll have to deal with it anyway.

When they do finally see him, dressed in his period clothing and sticking out like a… well, like a man in period military garb hanging out in the middle of an airport, all she can feel is relief.

_Jack’s here, he’s back on Earth, and things will be better._

_He’ll know a way to get Ianto back, he’ll be able to track the people holding him, he’ll be able to—_

Her thoughts get cut short when Jack notices them. She smiles at the look of shocked disbelief on his face, at the hope there, because she wants to shout _yes, we’re alive Jack!_

She still wants to shout it, for different reasons, when the look of hope turns darker, to anger and suspicion and determination…

She can practically read his thought process.

There are aliens posing as my dead friends/teammates, here for me, it’s highly likely that they’re going to cause damage, and this is an airport full of people…

She sees his hand go to where he usually keeps his gun hidden, and thanks the fact that he has the presence of mind not to wave it about in the middle of an airport.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” He demands, as soon as they are within hearing distance.

They stop short when they see his hand go into his jacket, and she knows he has a gun ready against them.

“Gwen told you we’d be picking you up, right? Please fuckin tell me she told you we’d be here?”

She sees a small bit of realization dawn on his face, but the hand in his coat doesn’t waver, his arm doesn’t relax.

“Jack,” she says as gently as she can, “It really is us. I don’t know what made you come back, I’m just glad for it, because Ianto—”

She cuts herself off at the savage look on his face. Doesn’t know how to start again.

“First, you,” he nods at Owen, “Tell me what it was that killed your fiancée.”

She sees Owen flinch from the corner of her eye.  
“don’t mess around, do ya…” he sighed, and took a step closer to Jack.

Jack immediately tensed.

“Cam down, calm down, I’m just not willin’ to be blabbing this around and letting anyone hear us… even if they would think I’m crazy… I… was engaged to Katie Russell. She had a alien parasite in her brain, and it gave all the symptoms of Alzheimer’s It was eventually going to make her die. When it was going to be removed, you… you came in during surgery, because if the bloody thing got disturbed, it would release a toxic gas, and, surprise of all fucking surprises, it did.

You retconned everyone, almost got me believing in it myself, that it had never happened… and that’s how I got this bloody job. Where you can’t stay fuckin’ dead.” Owen glared at Jack. “And you’d know that best of all of us, Harkness.”

Jack relaxed some, but kept a level look when he turned to Tosh.

“And you. What was it that attracted my attention to you, that made me come get you from UNIT?”

“… You told me that the plans for the sonic modulator weren’t actually complete. That the plans didn’t… work. But the one that I made did… because I automatically fix things as I go. You said I had a choice: five years with Torchwood, or spend the rest of my life with UNIT… I chose Torchwood.”

Jack nodded and… well, he didn’t relax, but he looked like he was much less likely to start shooting them if they made any sort of abrupt movement. She checked her watch, and realized that, while labor can sometimes take hours and hours, it would still be best if they made their way to the hospital as soon as possible.

“Look, Jack, we can start explaining in the SUV, but we have to get to Gwen. We can tell you about Ianto, but it would probably be better if you’d wait for us to get to the Hub, we have all our information—”

“We should probably feed Myfanwy as well, Tea boy’d never forgive us if we let that old dinosaur get malnourished—”

“The Hub? Myfanwy? I thought…”

A look of alarm crossed his face. Before Tosh or Owen could say or do anything, he’d run over to a half-asleep looking ten-year-old waiting by some luggage.

“Quick, what day is it today?”

Owen spun around and dragged a hand through his hair.

“Bloody hell, seriously? Is he fucking serious?”

The kid looked at Jack, sleepy and annoyed.

“It’s Christmas Eve, bugger off…”

Jack blinked, stunned. Was near frantic when he started tapping away at his Vortex Manipulator.

“No, no, no, no, no…. What? How could that… There must be some mistake…”

“Are you joking? Oi, is this loony with you?”

Owen sighed, and leveled the kid with a look.

“Yeah, unfortunately… C’mon Harkness, let’s get to the car so we can fuckin’ explain, so you can _stop_ jumping to conclusions. For fuck’s sakes, it’s four in the fucking morning, I shouldn’t have to fucking deal with this shit…”

Tosh touched Jack’s arm, nodding slightly behind Jack, where what must be the ten-year-olds parents were coming from, looking worried.

“C’mon, Jack. We can explain it while we head to the hospital.”

Still looking a bit shell shocked, Jack gave her a suspicious look, but followed.

After a moment of walking, he glanced at her.

“…Is it really Christmas Eve? Because that would really help explain some, because things are always _really_ bizarre on Christmas…”

“No Jack. It’s not Christmas.”

He looked like he didn’t know if he should be relieved about that or not.

Another pause.

“… I wasn’t joking earlier. I do actually need to know the date. My vortex Manipulator is acting up and… You guys already have the Hub rebuilt? And Myfanwy’s alive?”

Tosh smiled.

“You missed out on some things while you were gone.”

“You’re telling me…”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Early Labor lasts, on average, 6-12 hours.

It takes Gwen Williams 4.

During that time, Jack nearly shoots Tosh and Owen before thy have a chance to explain. In the short amount of time it takes to get from the airport to the hospital, they manage to roughly summarize the past 9 months, even despite Jack’s insistence that he’d been there for the first few months of Gwen’s pregnancy.

Owen points out that it’s easier to explain everything all at once, and points out in his particularly delicate way that if Jack hadn’t swanned off to parts of the galaxy unknown, they wouldn’t feel the need to make sure he was entirely caught up with the situation at hand.

That explanation, along with the uneasy silence that follows it (because goddamnit, he _knows_ running away wasn’t the smartest thing, but he’d needed to get away from the memory—), means that they don’t get through the entire 9 months before Gwen goes into active labor.

Active labor often lasts up to 8 hours. Sometimes hours longer.

It takes Gwen Williams 9 hours, almost exactly, to give birth to Anwen Williams.

In that time, Jack is alternately ecstatic and horrified at the idea of Gwen giving birth, while also alternately ecstatic and horrified at what he’s learned about Ianto.

He’s happy that Gwen is having a baby (always a thing to celebrate, giving birth to new life), but also horrified, because he knows exactly how much less safe present-day labors are compared to, say, even the 30th Century.

Having had his own children in less safe times did not take away from the fact that he knows every single way that this birth can go wrong.   Even if one assumes no alien involvement wreaking further havoc.

This is all warring with his feeling for Ianto, as well.

Ianto is alive! He wants to laugh and cry and scream, because Ianto is alive, and he doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t want to think about the fact that that means he’s only going to die later, so he’s going to focus on the surreal thought that Ianto is alive.

 _And_ , from what he’s learned from Owen and Tosh, most likely in danger. He’s missing, and most likely in the hands of a group who are intent on doing him harm… for reasons that he cannot yet see. It couldn’t be Torchwood related, not with how they’ve acted…

As per the usual, he finds his thoughts turning away, slightly, from the task at hand, to the fact that…

Well. Ianto’s mind in the body of his 10-year-old self.

What was Jack supposed to do with that?

He tries picturing it, and just… can’t.

It’s ridiculous, but all he has in mind is a kid in a suit, wide baby blues and combed back dark hair.

And that mental picture always morphs to the way he remembers him most fondly, _in_ that suit, about to get _out_ of that suit, eyes warm, smile fond, eyebrow quirking…

And, as it had for the past half-year, his mind makes the switch.

Ianto, in his arms, eyes dazed, not from sex, cheeks flushed, not from sex, eyes watering, not from sex…

From dying.

_“I love you.”_

_“Don’t say that.”_

The rasp of his breath, rattling in his lungs, the way his throat swelled as it reacted to the poison in the air, the way he could hardly focus on him, the way he couldn’t react the way he was supposed to, how he couldn’t give Ianto what he _deserved_ —what he needed to hear—

_“It was good, yea?”_

_“Yea.”_

He hadn’t been able to say what he needed to say, what Ianto needed to hear, and it haunted Jack in the months since Ianto died.

_“Don’t forget me.”_

_“Never could.”_

Never _would_.

But Ianto was, somehow, miraculously, amazingly, _gloriously_ alive, and had been for roughly 6 months, for about the time that Jack had been gone…

And his 26-year-old mindset was in his 10 year old body.

He waited with Tosh and Owen in the waiting room, waiting for Rhys to come out to tell them what was happening, if they could come see Gwen yet, if they could come see _Anwen_ yet, and thought that if it were for anything else, he’d be insisting they get to the Hub (the rebuilt Hub, and wouldn’t that be a change?) so he could see it for himself. Tosh had mentioned a video of some sort.

But this was Gwen, who had been pregnant and now wasn’t, and this was a Torchwood Baby, and he had a yawning Tosh and Owen beside him—

And he wasn’t even remotely close to getting around to processing that yet, because he was supposed to be the one to never die, and not that he was complaining, but this was the third time for Owen, and Jack couldn’t deal with this again, dammit!—

and he could wait, just a little longer, for an image to go with the thought of a wee Ianto Jones.

(Though dammit if it isn’t hard to focus on that.)

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

“So… a kid?”

“Yes. In a suit.”

Hank and Eunice exchanged looks.

“And… he was from Jones? Jones sent you a kid?”

Tyra looked harried.  
“No, he didn’t just send me a kid, he—you don’t understand! He got past _George_!”

Hank’s eyebrows rose.

“Who’s George?”

“My doorman! Jones, he sent a child to my building, and somehow that child got to my apartment! Do you not see how alarming this is?”

Eunice shifted in her seat, and tilted her head.

“Why is it important that he got to your apartment? Or past your doorman?”

Hank felt bad about… well, they were sort of being ridiculously doubtful of her story. He’d like to say that it was because she’d admitted to embezzling again, and because she didn’t want to _owe_ Jones anything, of _all reasons_ … but he had enough insight into his own mind that he could see that some of his uncharacteristic doubtfulness was stemming form the fact that Jones chose to get in contact with _her_.

With _Tyra Shaw_ , the Duchess of Doubtfulness, the Mistress of Missing Adventures, the Queen of _Questioning a Good Thing_ , the—

Okay, he didn’t know her, but he’d brought up the possibility of _adventure_ and a possible _Robin Hood/Batman_ -esque figure, and her response was to run away and continue embezzling funds.

And she didn’t even do it because she needed it. She did it because she wanted to be able to spite Jones.

Jones who, from what he understood of this situation, sent her a message basically detailing that if she didn’t stop embezzling, he’d report her. He’d still pay for her Great, Great, whatever’s Aunt’s medical bills, and keep her comfortable, but if Tyra had continued embezzling it would lead to him reporting her.

He gave her a chance, paid for her relative’s medical bills like he’d done for Hank, and she _threw it back in his face_.

And Jones gave her another chance.

And now she was making it sound like a horrible thing?

What the fuck?

“No! You don’t understand!” She pursed her lips, and took a deep breath, looking like she was doing her best to gather patience.

“Look, I… I like my security. I like knowing that I don’t have to worry about anyone breaking into my place, I… I just like the security, okay? So my building, well, it has a swipe card you need to get in the front doors, manned by George. And there’s Corey for backup. But it’s mostly George. There are security cameras everywhere, and you need another card _and_ a passcode to get to my floor from the elevator.”

“What, you live in a place like that and you had to steal to get your Aunt the medical care she needs?” Hank agreed with Eunice on that one…

“ _I had my rent paid through all the way to next year._ But that’s not the point! Jones sent a _child_ , and he _got to my apartment_! George didn’t call to send him up, and there’s certainly no way he’d be able to get my floor code, let alone the right key card for it! And he sent a _child_! A small… strangely well dressed _child_! Like a tiny undertaker. Jones uses children! And he got to my apartment! How can he stand himself?”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto sighed and wondered what to do with himself.

He still had a couple of hours until he had to be all ready, time to kill before he had to be at the Warehouse… So…

Ianto touched his toes for a count of ten, and then slowly stretched his arms high above his head.

Repeated the movement, and felt some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

He didn’t want to go out for fear of encountering Thugs (as, seriously, he’d be seeing enough of them when he broke into the warehouse later tonight), he had enough food—would be making himself a high-energy early dinner to prepare for the night ahead—and there was only so many videos on YouTube you could watch before feeling entirely useless…

A chime came from the computer.

He raised his eyebrow, wondering what alert had been set off, worried until he saw what it actually was.

Gwen had her baby! She—wait.

He checked the calendar, and frowned.

Was it normal to be late? Wasn’t her due date three days ago…?

He blinked and shook himself from any sort of ridiculous guilt. He’d been a bit busy, and this is why he’d had Mini set to tell him when any hospital put down a record of a newborn with parents listed as Rhys and Gwen Williams. Or Cooper. Or Cooper-Williams.

He hadn’t been entirely sure what Gwen would be doing…

But apparently she was sticking to Rhys’ name, as there, as Welsh as can be, was Anwen Williams.

Anwen Williams. Ianto said the name aloud, and nodded to himself.

He hadn’t seen her, but he was sure Anwen Williams was a beautiful baby girl.

He checked the clock.

Grimaced.

Well, that really didn’t take all that much time. And there wouldn’t be much information on how Gwen is, and how the baby’s doing, not for a while yet…

Ianto sighed, and got back to stretching.

He was probably healthier than he’d ever been in his life, what with all the exercise, and the healthy food, and he was fairly certain that he was burning off any and all unhealthy fats every time he died…

He made a face, thinking of the last time he’d eaten take out, thinking of his time in Torchwood where that was what he’d eaten most of the time…

Mind, he’d done as well as he could, considering. One couldn’t say that pizza or Chinese could ever really be healthy, but he had, with the Torchwood Credit Card, bought the better stuff.

And he’d never broken down and bought any of that premade crap people seemed so content to eat…

He blinked.

Finished his set of stretches, and moved to his keyboard.

He knew what he could do for the next little while…

It’s certainly not too soon to make another blog post

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

“So… what, exactly do you want us to do with this information? I mean, we can’t exactly do anything to Jones.”

The look Tyra gave her was only a hair off of being manic.

“I want… I want in, on whatever you two are doing in regards to Jones. I don’t know who he is, and I don’t know how far you’ve gotten on finding out about him, but I… I want to know what he wants. What he _really_ wants. I want to know exactly how dangerous he is, and find out if he really is the golden hearted individual you’re insisting he is.”

Hank laughed, a quick bark of laughter, and it was a strange thought to have, but Eunice was realizing that this dork actually had the capacity to be mean. She already knew he had the ability to be bitchy, but she hadn’t actually thought he could be a _bitch_.

Though, to be fair, he probably wasn’t even aware of how much of an ass he was being, so busy scrambling to defend Jones.

_He’s got such a fan-boner for the guy…_

She couldn’t say she wasn’t disappointed in Jones herself—despite herself, she’d started buying into Hank’s dorky claims of him being a superhero of sorts, and the idea that Jones would use kids to do his dirty work…

_Eugh._

Just _eugh_.

“Look, great thought, good effort, but I just don’t know if we actually need help from a little girl who can’t even think outside the box… I mean, this is _Jones_! He seems to have contingency plans for his contingency’s plans contingency plans!”

“Hey! I can think of, of situations outside of the box too!”

Hank scoffed. “Oh yeah?”

Tyra’s mouth firmed. “Yes. Like… Well, what if we’re looking at this all wrong, hmm? What if _you_ are wrong about Jones.”

Eunice sighed, and Hank shook his head at Tyra.

“Nuh uh, that’s not thinking outside of the box, that’s you repeating your paranoid little self, and if you want to be part of this you have to—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about!”

Eunice sighed again, wondering if she’s really the only mature one here, and smacked Hank upside the head.

“Stop being a child. Tyra, you don’t have to match him, crazy theory to crazy theory…”

But Tyra was shaking her head. Eunice rolled her eyes. She’d tried.

“No, see, you make it out like Jones is brilliant for choosing his ‘name’, because even now, when you do any sort of search for ‘Jones’ you get a couple dozen results for Ianto Jones, right?”

Hank reluctantly nodded, and Eunice was interested despite herself. Both of them were crazy, having wild ideas about Jones, but…  
“Well,” Tyra drew out the word, “What if you’re looking at it the wrong way? What if he didn’t choose that because we’d never find him under all the results on Ianto Jones and that Jack guy? What if he chose it because we’d never believe that it could be him!?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Hank moaned, “You aren’t suggesting that…”

“ _Yes_! I _am_! Because what if Ianto Jones isn’t really dead? What if Ianto Jones is Jones!?”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

It took well into the evening to catch Jack up on all the details.

They’d gotten the bare facts down while waiting for Gwen to have her baby, but there were some things you have to get down into the details to fully get across—and the situation with the Thames House Children was definitely one of those situations.

“An institution has been set up to find all the Kids… as soon as it got out what, exactly, was happening with them… well, families needed to be contacted, more people were looking for them, and with quite a few of the… sort of deceased knowing delicate information, it was decided that it’d be for the best to get everyone together. From what Owen’s seen of the work done up on them, most of them are showing signs of being regular 8- to 11-yearolds…”

“Unlike Tea Boy. I had to make an appointment with the bird in charge of the institution, but I should be able to get comparative blood samples day after tomorrow. And, before you ask, yes this appointment is also to interview the kids, so you don’t have to worry about that…”

“Can you show me what, exactly, is wrong with Ianto’s blood? And show me the pictures from the scene that the police stumbled upon…”

Tosh pulled up the pictures on one monitor, and Owen’s results on another.

Looking at his expression, looking at the amount of blood in the pictures and remembering her own reaction to them, she quickly pulled up the CCTV footage as well.

“This is the footage I got of Ianto leaving the building… He’s alive, Jack. I don’t know how, but he is.”

She had to play it back three times, but by the end of the third, she thought that maybe Jack had started to allow himself to believe.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

“Oh, c’mon, how the hell could Ianto Jones be alive? He died! On camera! As did everyone else in Thames House!”

“Well,” says Eunice of all people, “we never technically got to see a body…”

“We didn’t see _any_ of the bodies! Because only family could do that, because the bodies were released to the families so they could be buried! _Come on_ Eunice, you aren’t really believing this, this…”

“Equally Absurd Jones Theory?” she smirked.

“It’s not absurd!” Hank didn’t think Tyra really believed her own ‘theory’, not when it was obvious that she only made it up to prove she could think outside the box, but it looked like now she was warming to it. The woman was completely bonkers!

“No! Look, what do we actually know about Ianto Jones? We know he worked for te government, and that he was at Thames House, but what else? Practically nothing!”

“We know he has a badass older sister. Remember? She slapped Denise Riley on national television!” Eunice looked entirely fond when saying this, and Hank had to agree. Honestly, the woman should have gone to jail. To even consider taking children form their homes…

“Oh, and that he was in love with that other bloke, Jack whatshisface…” Eunice sighed, dreamy expression on her face. “Declared his love with his dying breath…”

Hank pointed at her.

“HAH! I knew it! You’re a closeted romantic, aren’t you?!”

He dodged the slap she aimed at him, and grinned. “Nah ah ah! It’s too late! Your tough woman persona is shattered forever, you mushy little romantic you! No taking it back!”

“Guys!” Tyra slapped her hands down on the table, attracting attention from the other tables in the bakery. She flushed, and sat back down, only continuing when attention moved on from their table.

“Look,” she says, in a much more even tone, “I’m saying it’s a possibility. We don’t know who Jones is, or what sort of resources Ianto Jones has—or _had_ , okay, okay—or what he really did… But this is much more believable to me, more than a—a robin, batman, whoever hooded figure just giving away money and not expecting anything in return.”

Hank made a face. “You’re happier thinking it’s a government lackey than _Batman_ or _Robin Hood_?” He would really never ever understand this woman…

Eunice nudged him.

“Look, whatever and whoever Jones is—that’s not what we should be focusing on right now. Tyra, you want to join us in trying to find out as much as possible about Jones, right? Well, if I’m remembering your job right, you’re in the perfect position to find out where Jones’s money is coming form, and as soon as we find out more about that, more roads will be open to us, right? Hank, stop giving her such a hard time—she may not be trying to find _Jones The Superhero_ , but she is still willing to help find Jones. So why don’t you stop making an ass out of yourself, and tell her what it is that we’ve been doing… It’s starting to get dark out, and I don’t want to be here at closing.”

He’d somehow forgotten that Eunice could be viciously practical sometimes…

He heaved a sigh, feeling immensely put upon… but felt slightly better at the fact that Tyra obviously wasn’t happy having their little fight ended this way.

“Fine…” he turned to face Tyra more head on.

“So,” he starts, pulling out his phone, “First thing you should know, is that Jones made a website for us…”

And then his phone chimed.

He blinked at it. Looked at Eunice.

“Is that…?” she asks.

Hank nodded.

“Is that what? Isn’t that just a text?”

Hank shakes his head, slightly stunned.

“No… Jones has a website he pretends to blog on, and _that”_ he says, wonderingly, “is the noise my phone makes to tell me he put up a new post…”

Tyra blinked.

“Oh.”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto stretched his arms above his head, thinking he should probably find some way to get a better computer chair up here—one that was more easily adjustable, more convenient for his regular change in size, and checked the clock.

Considered it…

Shrugged.

Time for food, and then he’d better get dressed for tonight. He could stand to leave early. He could explore the surrounding area a bit if he was too early to the warehouse.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

“… How close are you to finding the people who were holding him? How close are you to finding Ianto?”

“Not very. I… well, I’m a little bit behind, still, in the latest progress in hacking. It’s amazing how far everything’s come… but it’s been a bit difficult catching up. I know they’ll make a mistake sooner or later though. They’ve already started leaving loose bits of data behind when trying to lose me. But I’ll get them.”

“And no sign of Tea-Boy yet, either. There must be some reason for him to be staying away, but…”

Jack was silent for a moment, looking over the information displayed in front of him with a frown.

“… Does he know you’re alive?”

Tosh and Owen traded looks.

“Um… don’t think so. I’ve made sure it’s in every database in our system that we’ve both managed to come back, but from what I can tell he hasn’t checked in for a while. Not since the last time he left a file on the Thames House Children. Why?”

“I was just thinking… If, say, he didn’t know you were back—or even if he did!—would Ianto bring danger around with Gwen pregnant?”

“Well—…”

Owen closed his mouth, frowning.  
“… Probably not. He wasn’t all that family oriented, but I see where you’re getting at. Even knowing you were around, he likely wouldn’t want to bring any big bad around Gwen when she’s in the condition she’s in…”  
“Oh! Oh no!” Her hands flew to her mouth without thought.  
“What?”

“Oh no, it’s just… We… After a point, we couldn’t keep fielding questions for you, so it got to the point we had to send the Government a notice that you were gone, and…” she couldn’t finish.

“… And what’s the likelihood that Ianto caught that message?”

A feeble smile came to her face. “Very likely.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, you could say that again… But I think I have the answer. Owen, do you still have Ianto’s blood samples on hand? Go get them.”  
“Jack, what do you need them for?”

He looked up from his wrist strap with a grin just this side of desperate.

“I’m going to find out _exactly_ where Ianto is.”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

_I have no idea where I am…_

Ianto tried pulling up his mental map of the area, but if he was remembering it correctly, there should have been another two streets until…no, wait, if that was North…

He reoriented himself, and breathed a sigh of relief.

He had to calm down…

He’d been jittery on the bus ride into the is part of town, having to paste on his Everything Is Alright smile for a concerned looking businessman, and when that hadn’t worked he’d had to get off on the stop before his destination.

Nerves had him confused and disoriented as he made his way to where he was supposed to be, and now that he was actually within sight of the right block, he felt like he was coming down from a sugar high.

It was not a good thing.

But at least he was in the right area.

He checked the sky, then his watch, and settled himself just out of the way of civilian traffic to wait for it to be a little darker.

He was glad he came early to this.

He listened to the sound of people walking past, hurrying home, hurrying to their loved ones, and tried to imagine that after this he’d be able to do the same.

He looked up, the sky still more blue than orange for the moment, and wondered where Jack was…

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

“You really found all that? I remember reading about it in the paper…” Tyra gave him a wide-eyed look, and tried not to be annoyed at the insufferably smug look he returned with.

“Yeah, and now there’s another post on iJones, and… what are you doing?”

Tyra spared him a glance before going back to her blackberry, pulling up iJones to read the blog herself. She read through the posts quickly, each one only a few pages in length each, and frowned. How could he have…?

“How did you get anything about transvestites from any of this? How do you know this is even from Jones…?”

She went back and read through it, trying to see…

“See, this is what I’m talking about, you can’t think outside of the box!”

“Dumbass, I couldn’t find anything in it, either.” She looked up at the other woman for a moment, measuring… Tyra really didn’t know what to do with either of them. Hank McMasters was entirely inappropriate, and half the time she doesn’t even know what he’s saying, what he’s talking about, and Eunice Bakely… Well. Tyra had never met someone like her.

This was mostly because Tyra did her best to avoid people like Eunice Bakely.

Eunice was very violent.

She looked back to the blog.

… But also seemed very fair. She was very goal oriented, perhaps even more so than Tyra herself… She hadn’t seemed to get distracted even when both Hank and Tyra had gotten off on a tangent, though she still thought her theory on Jones being Ianto Jones merited more consideration than…

No. She needed to focus.

“… And now you—we need to find out what Jones is challenging us with now?”

“I thought the whole reason you started embezz—oof, fine, I mean, I thought you _started up again_ so you wouldn’t be _playing Jones’s game_ or whatever?”

Tyra did her best to give him a stern look.

“If he’s giving us specific things to look into, it means he’s in a position to be noticing them himself. The more… the more challenges we overcome, the more we’ll know about Jones. The more we’ll know his interests.”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, huh…?” Eunice raised an eyebrow at her, and Tyra nodded.

“Exactly.”

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Tosh watched as Jack placed one of the blood samples on his Vortex Manipulator, watched as the following glow lit up Jack’s face. Lit it up more literally than the determination and hope on his face.

Oh, she hoped for more than Ianto’s sake that this worked…

“And you can find anyone on Earth with this? Just by their DNA?”

“Yep. Down to the meter… Give me 10 and I’ll have his exact coordinates.”

“I’ll update Gwen… if she’s still resting, Rhys will let her know when she wakes up.” Tosh hit the speed dial, and hoped that Rhys hadn’t turned Gwen’s phone off.

“Wait… why haven’t we heard of this before?”

“Well, we haven’t really had need of it before.”

“Yeah well, if we had, we wouldn’t have…”

Tosh smiled as Owen and Jack bickered, both keeping an eye on the glowing screen of Jack’s wrist strap, and felt something inside of her relax.

Jack was back. Everything was going back to normal. Comparative normal.

And they were going to find Ianto.

Rhys picked up, and she filled him in on what they were doing, only wishing that Gwen could be here rather than on bed rest.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Getting past the perimeter isn’t as hard as Ianto thought it would be.

(This is good, as his nerves would have had him caught otherwise…)

There’s a barbed wire fence surrounding most of the building, apart from the front entrance, which has been decorated with far more aesthetically pleasing spikes. The building itself was a sort of warehouse-chic; red brick and tall windows, security cameras visible even form the distance.

He knows there are smaller, less obvious cameras set up in nooks and crannies.

He thinks it might have been a bit harder if he was back to his 6 foot self, rather than four-foot-nothing, but it would also be easier if he wasn’t also all knees and thumbs.

There’s a moment when he’s terrified he’s been seen, before he can plug Mini’s Chord into the first accessible security camera, but somehow the Thug convinces himself that he hadn’t seen movement.

Miraculously.

He breathes a sigh of relief, and waits for Mini to let him know that she’s taken over that part of the security.

His heart is still hammering from the fright, and he’s running high on adrenalin, but he still becomes increasingly aware of the chill in the air. His nose and ears are going pink, he’s sure, and he can see his breath faintly in the dim light. It’s not quite night yet, but it might as well be for how early it was getting dark lately… at least it provided a cover for him, though.

More shadows to blend in with, enough odd shapes created in the semi-dark to use as cover, and he again thinks, _My name is Jones, Ianto Jones_ , when Mini flashes a small light twice. Finally.

He checks the screen, memorizing the positions of the cameras in the immediate area, and checks his surroundings.

No one directly around, he backs up a few paces and sprints as quietly as he can for the wall.

There’s a slight dent in one of the bricks that he can use for a foothold, and the mortar had been worn away higher up so that when he scrabbles at it he has another hold. He has to grip with his fingers at the edges in the brick with his other hand, and the toe of his other boot slides against the wall before catching on a small space. He didn’t dare shift to get a look, and instead focuses on carrying himself up with as much momentum as possible.

Another hand hold, a lucky push with his feet, and a lunge, arm stretched upwards, and he’s got his fingers on the edge of the second-floor window.

It’s not the floor he wants to be on—no, that’s on the third floor—but he might have to use it as his point of entry.

He gives himself a moment to debate—he’d made plans for either situation, just in case—and sighs to himself.

He should have figured this plan out earlier.

When it was warmer.

He was losing feeling in his fingertips.

The windows didn’t have alarms connected to them, which he counted his blessing for, but they were also the original windows for the old building.

They were obviously not used too often.

Honestly it was easier getting his rusted old fire-escape ladder down that first time than it is getting this window open, at night, dangling from it’s ledge, and…

Well.

He stays annoyed at the world in general because he can, and also because it gives him the extra push (ha) to get the window open wide enough for him to get through.

He immediately closes it once he’s inside, pauses to listen if anyone’s coming to investigate the inevitable noise he’d made…

As delicately as he can, he dives for cover behind a stack of boxes, and hears the door to the room open.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

His heart pounded, and he wished it were because they were going to finally get Ianto back. Well, he wished it was _only_ because they were getting Ianto back.

“Fuckin’ hell! How in the _fuck_ did your driving get even worse?”

He really wished he knew, because there should be no way that Jack could have nearly hit that post, and yet he had, and now Owen was doing his best to pretend that it wouldn’t get worse once they got to a less busy part of the city.

Wasn’t doing a good job of it.

For fuck’s sakes…

It was dark enough out that the night-life was starting to pick up—which translated to more and more people J-walking and—

“For fuck’s sakes Jack! Get off the sidewalk!”

He could (sort of) understand Jack’s recklessness, but really, he’d died once by being shot, again (sort of) by being disintegrated slowly in radioactive waste, and the fact that he was seriously considering the possibility of dying of a car crash… well, despite the apparent precedent of Torchwood agents apparently not being able to stay dead, Owen really didn’t think he’d be coming back again.

An absurd part of him wondered if it was like baseball…

Strike one!

Strike two!

Strike three! And you’re outta here!

But to be taken out once (sort of) and for all by a car crash…

Owen nearly ripped the panic bar from the SUV when Jack took a wild turn, two wheels—the wheels on Owen’s side, dammit!—lifting off the ground for several heart-stopping moments before slamming down, the whole bloody car shaking from it.

His stomach is residing somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, so he feels the steady stream of expletives leaving him is entirely justified. Tosh is silent in the back seat, but he’s swearing enough for the both of them.

He has to flinch when a couple of blokes who look like they were extras on The Godfather have to dive out of the way to avoid being hit, and hopes to whatever fucked up god was out there that they survived the trip.

Because wouldn’t it be a laugh if they did end up dead trying to find Tea Boy?

His thought is interrupted when the air is punched from his chest, Jack breaking suddenly, driving the seatbelt into him, and stares at the little old lady crossing the street.

Fucking Harkness…

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto hardly dares to breathe.

He hears footsteps wander about the room, and shifts slightly. The room he’d broken into had turned out to be a barely-used storage room, seemingly the place they’d put all the unused furniture. Chairs stacked up in one corner, a few hastily labeled boxes, and a few tables and desks stacked and positioned about the room.

The area he’s managed to squish himself into was where they’d obviously decided to try and optimize space usage, and had stacked two tables on top of each other, their legs tangled and the top of one against the floor. The space between wasn’t much, and the small space provided between the top of the uppermost table and where a smaller box had been pushed up against the side was even smaller, but Ianto could fit.

He _made_ himself fit.

He looked through that space now, peering over the edge of the box, and tracked the vague shadow of a Thug as he made his way around the room.

Checking obvious hiding places.

Ianto cast his eyes to the window, still visible from where he was, and winced.

 _Dammit_ , he really should have done this when it was warmer.

When everything was less wet.

It wasn’t quite cold enough to be snowing yet, but that didn’t keep it from coming down in rain.

And Ianto had apparently overlooked the fact that he’d be tracking water in.

Damn.

Damn, Damn, Damn.

The faint trail led straight for him, and if the Thug looked down, maybe he’d bend down to investigate, and if he did that and turned to look over here…

Ianto was screwed.

He _would_ be screwed, if he…

He held his breath when the shadowy figure of the Thug blocked the light coming from the window, and dared to hope that the man wouldn’t look down.

Hoped, and hoped, and hoped…

The Thug grunted, dissatisfied, and headed for the door.

Ianto didn’t dare to breathe.

The door closed.

Ianto waited…

Waited…

The door opened again.

A huff, and the door closed again.

Ianto let out his breath, and checked the time.

Ok. He had little more than 15 minutes to get to the third floor, hook Mini up, and…

Figure out how he’d be getting out.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Hank scowled at his computer screen, trying to find the words…

Because honestly, despite Tyra’s enthusiasm in repeating it—

“A Child! Seriously!”

—it  hadn’t quite hit him exactly what that meant until he got home.

Until he got home and saw his own children.

They’d left soon after Tyra started spouting nonsense about _knowing ones enemies_ , and he’d reluctantly agreed to make her a super secret e-mail to use to keep in contact. They’d all agreed to look into what the hell Jones’s somewhat baffling post on eating healthy could be directed towards, keeping each other posted on what it could be about, and even though Hank was determined to beat Tyra to the answer, he couldn’t focus on that.

Because seriously.

What was Jones’s deal, using children to do his dirty work? Whose child was it anyway? He had a sudden thought—

What if it was Jones’s kid?

Hank tried to imagine sending Charlie or Erik on their own into a strange building to go talk to a stranger; couldn’t.

You don’t do that to kids! You just, well, you just don’t!

So here he sat, trying to find the best way to _say_ that to Jones, to get across that while Hank was all for just about everything else Jones seems to be up to, this is not kosher.

Not at all.

And because Jones didn’t seem to check his e-mail—or at least, not the one he’d used to initially contact the three of them, he had to figure out some other—

AHA!

Hank laughed to himself, not even caring that it more resembled an evil chuckle than a real laugh, and thought that in _this_ , at least, Jones has left himself open.

Because the thing about blogs?

You can leave comments…

And oh the comment Hank would be leaving…

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto had to try three times to get up the stairs—

The first time he’d convinced himself that he’d heard someone coming, and had quietly scrambled back down to the second floor to hide.

It turned out that no one had been taking the stairs… at least, not until Ianto’s second attempt. Then, of course, the door had opened before Ianto had even touched it.

_“Yeah, yeah, I’m just heading down now—”_

He’d stared, heart pounding, at the leather-clad back in front of him, the Thug having turned around to talk to, presumably, another Thug, and very quickly realized he didn’t even have time for a heart attack.

And then he very quickly scrambled down the stairs again, nearly breaking his neck when he’d leapt the last couple of stairs, and had to huddle in his hiding spot again, certain that the Thug had heard him.

The third time had, indeed, been the charm, but only slightly (if that made any sense), as he’d nearly been caught again on the other side of the door.

He’d had to slip into the first room he could for fear of being caught by whoever the Thug from earlier had been talking to, and had turned slightly, door nearly closed—

Of course, there was a Thug looking out the window, a number of monitors set up beside him where Ianto could barely see what must be the view from the security cameras.

And that was an interesting thing to him, curious as he was as to what exactly Mini was doing to the security cameras he showed up in, but another thing that held his interest was not being caught.

That the Thug hadn’t heard the door open was a miracle. That he was facing the other direction was a miracle. That he hadn’t turned around yet while Ianto stood frozen in the doorway was a miracle.

That Ianto hadn’t broken down and actually had a heart attack yet was probably less a miracle, and more to do with the fat that he was 10, and he didn’t think 10-year-olds could have heart attacks just like that, but that was something he could ponder on later because he was one peripheral glance away from being caught.

So he left.

Well, that made it seem simple, made it seem like he was cool as a cucumber, slipping out the door without a sound…

But really, he nearly brained himself with the door trying to get it open too quickly, and struggled through a too small gap, like keeping the door mostly closed was going to keep him from being noticed, and then, once he was back in the hallway, he nearly slammed the door shut behind him.

Eat your heart out, 007. He was really that smooth.

Actually looking around him this time, he very, very carefully closed the door behind him, keeping the latch from clicking shut and giving him away, and crept down the hallway.

He counted the doors, and there, the third down on the right, was the one he needed to go through.

Pressing an ear against the door, he couldn’t hear anything, so he very carefully cracked it open a sliver.

There was a lamp on, casting shadows in the room, but he couldn’t see anyone, so he very carefully made his way inside.

Carefully.

Really, he’d probably laugh at himself later, but for now his heart was hammering, pulse loud in his ears, and his shirt was damp through from hoe much he was sweating.

If and when he got out of this place alive, he might actually die of hypothermia on the way back to his apartment.

He choked down the laugh that thought brought him.

He thinks he might be in shock. Again. Could you go into shock from being frightened? It was another thing he should look up later.

The computers in the room were already on, the hard drive kept under the desk to provide more room for the three monitors set up there.

It was nothing to plug in the USB, but he didn’t allow himself to relax.  He’d made it halfway—no, not even half way, as he still had to wait for the information to download. Or send. Or whatever.

He had a moment of panic—how will he know when it’s done?—before he remembered that the light on the USB would flash.

He took a deep breath, and checked his watch.

He had—shit. He had a little less than 8 minutes before an alarm is likely to go off.

 _Shit, shit, shi_ —there was noise just outside the door, and Ianto had a minute to clamber under the table, hidden in the shadows and partially behind the hard drive, before the door opened.

Hand over his mouth, knees pressed to his chest, he watched as three sets of shoes came into the room.

One was dark and shined, what was obviously a very well cared for dress shoe, pared with a well-cut hemline of a suit.

(He had a bad feeling about this.)

Another was some sort of boot; Ianto guessed steel-toed, with dark jeans… he guessed that this one was a Thug.

(Bad, bad feeling…)

The third set was what looked like… designer sneakers. The sorts that people thought they could still wear to a formal event, just because they were _designer_.

(He was a bit confused, but still had a bad feeling…)

The door closed behind them, the light from the hallway now only a thin line under the door. He hoped they would go away soon… but if they didn’t, well, they probably would when the alarm went off. He hoped.

“So,” starts a very familiar voice, and Ianto’s hopes plummet, “what is the status of our… special project?”

Ianto closes his eyes, and hopes he’s dreaming.

Because if he is, and that means that he’s out cold somewhere—maybe even in his hiding place in the storage room—and that’s preferable to being _here_ , _now_ …

And if he isn’t dreaming…

That means that Boss Man just walked into the room Ianto was hiding in.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, BABIES! (or rather, BABY! But that sounded a bit too much like I was being overly familiar with you…)  
> And Jack/Tosh/Owen/Gwen reunion! Jack is actually back on earth! WAH!  
> And also Boss man! PROGRESS!  
> And also the Embezzling Trio… I have to admit it. I laughed. Oh Tyra…  
> I hope you see why this was taking so long now…  
> Know that I AM working on the next chapter now (lol to the cliffhanger :D), but I’m not giving any guarantees that it won’t be like this chapter in terms of lateness. I apologize in advance, just in case, but this isn’t summer any longer. As much as I’d love to sit around and just write all day, I can’t actually do that. (ULTIMATE SADNESS)  
> So thank you all for the support you’ve given me over the course of this huge-ass bit of AU head cannon-y-ness, and thank you in advance for your patience :)  
> Because you know what? I can see the end. The End is Nigh. Because I think this might also be a 7-chapter story. Maybe. Scary thought, and I think it’s another reason it took so long to write this story.  
> O_O  
> Also please don't hate me for the cliffy. I’m 80% sure the next update won't take as long…


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boss Man's in the room, Ianto's under the desk stealing information, the Torchwood team (sans Gwen) are driving to the rescue, and Ianto's having kittens!--or, well, he's got kittens, and still doesn't know what to do with them.  
> Also, strange phone calls are had in the wee hours of the morn, and is it actually possible to have a heart attack while under the age of 10?  
> Find out in the long awaited chapter 5 of Too Tired To Wink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the crazy lateness, lots of personal issues, along with rapidly shifting work schedule…  
> But look!  
> Also, should I be doing the chapter summary thing? I did it for this one, but...

 

**Comment on _Awkward Paws_**

 

_So yeah, haha, very funny, it’s hard to believe that it took you so long to realize that your cat wasn’t a boy-cat, but don’t think I haven’t noticed the issue you’ve glossed over. I mean, really, Batman can get away with using a kid for his crime-fighting due to his fictional nature, but you shouldn’t use ‘kittens’ for your own personal gain. Really I’m disappointed, you should know better than that, kittens are supposed to go to good homes, they shouldn’t have to break into sketchy homes to get a good meal, they shouldn’t just be used like this. They should be in good homes, with good families, you shouldn’t abuse, or use them when you can’t do the work yourself, I mean GOD how can you live with yourself? ALL children, no matter the ‘breed’, should be in safe, friendly environments, and leaving them on their own on the streets isn’t ok in the least, but using them for profit is just as bad._

_Really, don’t do it._

_HM_

 

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

“ETA Tosh?”

“Five minutes.”

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

Ianto wants to do many things in that moment.

He wants to shout, to cry, to hyperventilate, to hold his breath until his heart would stop it’s pounding tempo against his ribs—

(It was terribly distracting)

—But mostly he wants to be anywhere else but here.

The pair of boots—army issued steel toe, he ventures a guess—shifts, the weight of the man making the floor creak slightly.  
“Well, aside from—”

There’s a slight slide of sound, the sifting of fabric, and Ianto guesses that Boss man made some sort of gesture, some change in stance that made the deep-voiced Thug cut himself off.

“Sorry Sir.” The boots don’t so much as shuffle, but the trainer-ed third party shuffles in place. Ianto can see that the toes are scuffed, the flash of the bottom worn down… his heat is pounding, but he can still find it in himself to make a face at the quality of the make, to have that much wear and tear from a fairly new looking shoe.

“It’s all right, Roderick.” Ianto hears the silent threat, the slightly disapproving _I expect better from you_ before the tone evens out. “Alden?”

The Trainers shuffle again, and poor trainer choice aside, Ianto can’t blame him. Boss Man is terrifying, and seems to be putting the full weight of his attention on the third party…

Ianto wonders who these two are, to have a private if informal meeting with Boss Man.

Then Trainers spoke.

“Well… we haven’t caught him yet, Da.”

There was a significant pause, while Ianto’s mind boggled, because _eugh_ Boss Man had children. Probably crazy children. Crazy, with stupid shoes.

“… I mean,” Trainers, Son Of Boss Man, said, seeming to realize that more was expected, “we’ve come _close_ , but the last group to get close to him got Tazed and then the guy like, lost them somehow.”

“Somehow.”

Boss Man included no inflection to the tone, and Ianto imagined his face was just as inscrutable as it was when he’d watched his men repeatedly shoot Ianto in the head, but there was a world of scorn in that one word.

Ianto very carefully checked the time, holding his wristwatch so close to his face he almost couldn’t distinguish the numbers, and felt his insides shrink.

He had between 6 and 10 minutes until Mini would be into their systems, and less than 7 minutes before their security registered that the security had been hacked.

And he was here, in a room with Boss Man, Boss Man’s Son, and quite possibly Boss Man’s Head Thug, where it was very likely they were talking about him. In fact, it was more than likely, as he remembered using his Taser on a couple of thugs, and in the resulting stumble as the other Thugs tried to get around their fallen comrades he’d scuttled up the side of one wall to get out of sight.

He remembered it vividly, in fact, because he’d very nearly had a panic attack when he’d realized quite how _many_ Thugs were on his tail, and how his Taser was less than half charged.

“Yeah, somehow—I mean, the first report on him was how he’d gotten past Donnie and Marko on that job in London, running up the side of a building, over dumpsters, across rooftops…”

If he weren’t so panicked he might think it funny how much admiration was in Trainerers’ tone.

“Well, seems he’s just better at getting to the roofs than anyone we’ve got. In fact I think he might actually be getting better.”

“You’ve made no progress.”

“Well, no—I mean, Nerys found some obscure linguist to help translate some of the gibberish that he was spewing back when we had him—”

“Nerys. Not you.”

There was a moment where Ianto wasn’t the only one holding his breath.

One beat, two…

“Anything else.”

It wasn’t a question.

“…No sir.”

Not ‘Da’ this time, he noticed.

“Roderick? Status report?”

Roderick’s steel-toed boots made a slight noise against the floor as he clicked his heels together, quite possibly in a military salute, and the floor creaked faintly.

Ianto turned his eyes to the faint outline of the USB key, willing the light to go off. Just a little bit. Just a tiny flash of light and he could… If it could just do it _now_ , he could wait until they were distracted with their bit of familial disappointment and nefarious planning, and he could get away, please, please, please, please, please…

“The target Ianto Jones seems to have experience in evasive maneuvers, extensive knowledge of Cardiff’s alleyways, exits… and rooftops. Weapon of choice seems to be a home made Taser, electronics housed in a child’s toy. The target’s Base of Operation is unknown as of yet, though we’ve manage to narrow it down to a fifteen mile radius of the Upper East end of Splot.”

Ianto noticed that he pronounced it ‘Sploh’ the same as travel and housing agents.

“Good. Tell me what’s been learned on the age variant.”

“Ranges between ages 8 and 26, roughly, according to our people. The AV is being plotted as more information is gathered, however there is no distinguishable pattern. The age jumps seem to be between 6 and 17 years. Rarely less. ”

“I don’t see why we’ve got to get this guy in the first place…”

Boss Man finally moved, his well shined shoes shifting so he was more fully facing Trainers— _Alden_ , he reminded himself, if only he had a last name to go with it—and in the short interim he seemed to realize that he sounded like a petulant 6 year old.

“Well, I mean, I just don’t think he knows all that much, I mean, sure he doesn’t seem like he can die, but he can’t really, I mean, there’s no—”

“Quiet.”

Alden’s rambling dies a quick death. Boss man stepped forward, once to get into Alden’s personal space, and to his credit his sneakered-feet only shuffled back minutely.

(Ianto wondered how a man like Boss Man ends up with a son like Alden—then wonders how else he could have turned out, with such a strong, unyielding personality heading the family.)

There’s a slight clap, and Ianto pictures Boss Man’s hands landing on the faceless Alden’s shoulders. His voice, when he speaks, is minimally softer; a wolf trying to comfort a kitten.

“ _We_ have an empire, here, now. But what happens to it in 30… 40 years from now?”

The sound of a breath, and Ianto would assume that his ‘empire’ would go to the son, or perhaps to ‘Nerys’, thinks maybe Alden would say that as well, but he stays silent. Boss Man seems to hear it, anyway.

“Of course you will… take over, at some point. When you are ready. But you are nowhere near that point. Once we find Ianto Jones and find just what he has had done to himself, however, we will _both_ have more _time_. Time is more precious than money, than property… it is _the_ most precious commodity. Do you understand me, Alden? Son? We need Ianto Jones.”

Ianto couldn’t help shuddering a little at the tone, because yeah, it was creepy being talked about this way, but he also couldn’t help feeling a bit… sorry for Alden.

Boss Man’s emphasis on ‘we’ while obviously wanting more time for his own benefit…

“Yes, Da. I understand.”

Ianto thought that perhaps his own relationship with his father wasn’t all that bad, comparatively.

And then Boss Man’s phone rang.

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

Jack grinned at the security guard at the gate, giving him a long once-over. He was more rugged than handsome, but even under uniform he had great shoulders.

They weren’t as nice as others he’d seen, say under a well tailored suit, but—no.

_Focus, Jack, focus._

“C’mon now, we can all wait here while we get a warrant, or you can just let us in for a little look around.”

The security guard under scrutiny, his nametag said only ‘Phillips’, shifted uncomfortably. His partner, much less attractive, sneered.

“This is private property, and besides which you’ve got no reason to go looking around.”

Owen snorted. “Sounds like what someone with something to hide would say.”

In his ear, Tosh said, “Jack, give me a few more minutes, and I’ll have a warrant printed out. Get someone of authority sent down here so we can get in as quick as possible.”

Jack grinned and moved to lean against the glass partition between he and Phillips.

“If you’ve got nothing to hide, it couldn’t hurt to get whoever’s in charge down here to sort us out. We just want to have a look around…” he let his grin widen. “We got a, ah, tip in, and you know what they say about tips. Once the tips in, you might as well follow through.”

Phillips flushed red, and the other guy, no name tag that Jack could see, scowled.

“Get away from the glass.”

“Call someone down here to stop me.”

Phillips already had a phone in hand, resolutely staring down at the chord.

The Other Guy gave Phillips a look.

“Boss’s not going to like it.”  
“He’ll like it even less if the alarm goes off.”

Jack started tapping on the glass. It annoyed the Other Guy, and if an alarm would get this guys’ ‘boss’ down here sooner, well.

He didn’t know when his Vortex manipulator would be up for a scan for Ianto’s blood again, and he couldn’t risk Ianto getting away.

_We need you home, Ianto._

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

“What.”

Again, with it not being a question.

His heart was pounding, Boss Man’s ring tone (an even chime, completely unremarkable) having startled him, and he checked his watch again. At most, he had 2 minutes before the alarms went off.

At most, he had 4 minutes until Mini had gotten all of the information needed, if he was unlucky.

“Do they have a warrant.” Boss Man said, and Alden shifted, rolling his heel and the edge of his foot in his horrendous shoes. Roderick shifted minutely so that his shoes were facing Boss Man directly.

Ianto kind of wished he could see more of them than their knees and under, but also was very happy he wasn’t in a position to see their faces.

Then again, Mini would have an easier time finding out whom they were if he could give a face to go with the name…

No, bad as it was, Ianto would rather be entirely under the table, hidden, than risk being seen if he poked his head out from under the table.

He checked the time; 30 seconds if he were unlucky, and the alarms would go—

And then there was a miracle.

“Keep them in sight. I’ll be down shortly.”

As one Boss Man and Roderick moved for the door, Alden stumbling a moment afterwards to keep up with whatever unseen signal Boss Man had given, and a moment later the door was opening, closed, and Ianto was alone in the room once more.

A moment later, there was a chipper beeping noise form the computer beside him, and the light at the end of the USB key flashed at him.

His heart pounded, adrenalin flooding his system and cramping his arms.

_If that had been one moment earlier—if there hadn’t been a call—if anything had caused them to crouch down even the slightest—_

His lungs were twisting, but he didn’t have time for a panic attack.

He grabbed the USB from its port, stumbled only a little coming out from under the table, and went to the window.

More lights were on, and he could see more Thugs moving to fill the courtyard.

Less people inside the building for him to encounter, more people for him to get caught by outside.

They were all focused on the front gate though, so…

Ianto brought up his mental map of the area, matched it up with his map of the building… There was a room on the South end of the hallway that had two windows, and there should be a downspout on the side of the building. It could probably hold his weight.

Either way, if he was remembering correctly, the next window over was a relatively short distance, but from there he could use the ventilation system.

Cliché as it was, with the Thugs on higher alert due to whatever dumbass was at their front gates, it was his most likely escape route.

He stopped at the door to listen for anyone in the hallway, and carefully cracked the door. He didn’t see anyone

“I swear it’ll take half a moment Da! I’ll be right down!”

Another crisis, another heart attack, and Alden sounded very close, and could Ianto rush back under the table? Probably. But without being seen, without having a flash of movement for Alden to investigate? Probably not.

This was all taken out of his hands when the door opened, and Ianto froze.

Stared at the wood, heart pounding, and thought of how ridiculous it was that Ianto was hiding behind the door as Boss Man’s son walked into the room, his stupid shoes near silent on the floor. Maybe that was why he wore them, he thought, a little hysterical.

Maybe that’s how he gets away with it.

Another thought.

Is Ianto going to get caught because he didn’t hear Boss Man’s son coming—because Boss Man’s son wore stupid, tacky, silent shoes?

A laugh bubbled up his throat, and he just about bit through his lip keeping it from escaping. Wetness ran down his chin, copper in his mouth, and he turned his head to see Alden fumble about on the computer for a moment, then turn, and head for the door.

His eyes swept the room, went past Ianto, hand reaching for the edge of the door—his head jerked, and everything went in slow motion from there.

His heart raced. Alden’s head turned towards him, and Ianto saw a man in his mid to late 20’s with too much product in his hair, the beginnings of a slightly lopsided goatee, and eyes the same shade of grey as Boss Man’s. They weren’t half as frightening, though.

The frown, the widening eyes as Alden recognized him, his mouth opening in a shout—

But no sound came out, because Ianto was shouldering the door closed, reversed the movement to slam his opposite elbow into Alden’s crotch. He buckled in two with a gasp, and stared at Ianto from the ground, still gasping.

Ianto was panting, too, and couldn’t move.

In the cinema’s, this would be the point where the protagonist would say something witty, and knock the bad guy out, but in no film Ianto had ever seen had the Protagonist gasping along with the downed enemy in a mild panic attack. He was also blanking on what he could possibly say, in this sort of situation.

“You—” he starts, but doesn’t have the breath, and takes a moment to stop, swallow the blood and bile in his mouth, and tries again.

“Your shoes are dreadful,” is what ends up leaving his mouth.

Alden looks even more confused.

“W- _what_?” his voice breaks halfway through.

Ianto swallows again, and nods.

“Tackiest things I’ve ever seen.” He takes a breath. “Really.”

It doesn’t seem to clear anything up, but it’s just as well as Ianto steps forward to punch him in the face. Aim for the temple, to stun if not knock out, Jack’s voice murmured in his ear calming his heart somewhat.

Right on impact, Alden shouts—

And that’s when the alarm goes off.

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

Owen glared at Jack.

He’d finally stopped tapping on the glass when even Phillips had looked annoyed, but he was still leaning against it.

If Owen didn’t know any better, he’d think that Jack wasn’t as invested in getting Ianto back as the rest of the team. But he does know better, so he also knows that Jack’s being a berk because he can’t do anything else until whoever’s in charge of this place shows up.

Jack catches his glaring, and shrugs against the glass.

“C’mon Owen, the security glass isn’t sensitive enough for something like this to set it off.” Owen shakes his head and pulls out his mobile to get Tosh to hack their security feed. Get rid of anything with their face showing, or at least corrupt it enough, and maybe they could dodge being sued for Jack’s stupidity. They were only now getting back into anything resembling the ‘good graces’ of the police force, and a great deal of that was because… well, because Jack wasn’t around.

Owen may be crotchety, and he didn’t have the same placating skills that Tea Boy had, but even he knew better than to taunt the local Force with information they can’t have.

Weevils certainly were ‘need to know’, but there were better, more tactical ways of putting it.

And fuck it if rooming with Tosh wasn’t making him soft.

He shook his head, and glared some more when Jack smirked at him.

When he deliberately lifted his fist to the glass again, Owen knew they were probably screwed.

“I’m telling you,” he said, rapping his knuckles against the glass, “it’d take a full on punch for this to—”

The rest of his sentence was muffled by the alarm suddenly going off.

Owen raised his eyebrows. “Good job, Harkness.”

Jack, wisely, moved away from the glass.

His mobile vibrated in his pocket, a text from Tosh.

**That wasn’t set off by the security glass. It’s their system alarm**

Owen frowned. Certainly wasn’t from Tosh, then. She’d mention that fist off if tht were the case.

**Their cameras got hacked by someone 10mins ago**

**Someone trying to get in unnoticed**

Jack had moved back from the glass at the alarm, and moved to Owen’s side when he gestured.  
“What’s happening?”

Owen handed him his phone.

Another text came in.

**Checking it out now. Might be Ianto**

Jack’s mouth firmed up, no longer smiling.

“This can’t be good in any case…”

Jack shook his head. “No, no it can’t. But we still have to check it out. Even if he’s managed to escape, we know for a fact that he was here.”

Owen looked back at the building.

“Yeah, but for how long?”

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

The door closes right when another door down the hall opens, his last sight of the hallway is Alden crawling into the open. The alarm covers anything he might be saying.

Ianto immediately goes for the window, heaving it open and shoving at it when it sticks. Making too much noise isn’t really a problem, right then.

He doesn’t bother closing it behind him, straddling the ledge and then swinging his leg over so his legs dangle, searching for some purchase.

The downspout shakes under his hands, groaning a slight tremor against his fingers, and it’s a quick shuffle sideways to reach the next window.

He has to let go with one hand to open the next window, and his heart is high in his chest when one of the nails keeping the spot bolted to the walls jerks and snaps.

The alarm is loud in his ears, even outside, but he can hear his heart above that.

When the window finally (finally) gives, the second bolt holding the downspout groans when he pushes to scramble inside, gasping, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without putting his head between his knees and just focusing on breathing.

But, storage room or not, he can’t stay where he is.

He’s not so sure how he’ll do in the ventilation; all that dust, the enclosed space, it can’t do anything for his breathing issues, but he can’t think of any other way out.

He has to push a table over, and put a chair on top of _that_ to reach the vents

(oh the joys of the vertically challenged children)

but then he’s in.

He’s right; the dark, enclosed space immediately has his breath shortening, and dust clogs his nose, but this is the only way.

Soon he’ll be out, outside breathing fresh air, beyond the fence, and he’d be safe to have a nice bout of hyperventilation in peace.

But there would be no hyperventilation until he was out of the building.

(Gods, what was his life that that was his motivation to get out of a villainous lair? Ah, yes, you will be out of said villainous lair, but above that you will have the peace and quiet to have a proper meltdown! Isn’t that nice?)

He’d think on how he would get back home afterwards; he probably looked like enough of a wreck before he started crawling through old, dusty vents, but now…

A part of him— _no_ —thought that maybe— _no, no, no_ —if he let himself get killed— _no, no, nononono_ —just the once then that wouldn’t be an issue. He was always clean, at least, after he died…. But no. That really wasn’t an option. As limited as Ianto’s alternatives now tended to be, that was never going to be an option.

Dying would never— _could_ never—be a willing choice.

For now, it’s straight past two openings, down carefully one floor at the third right after that, left and straight and down again, and then right again. At that point he has to listen for the quietest room to drop down into—

Or he could just kick out the vent leading right outside. Ianto stares at the light shining through the slowly spinning blades, weighs the risks…

The alarm is still going, and it’s hard to listen for anyone through it, let alone through the low hum of the AC—and it’s ridiculously easy to kick at the center joint of the fan and break through to open air.

He can barely hear the crash of metal hitting the pavement underneath, but his heart still pounds, waiting a moment before creeping closer to the edge.

There’s a bit of wire hanging against the metal, and he tugs on it to find that one of the surveillance cameras had been attached to the top, now knocked loose and dangling.

Well, if he’d wanted to hide how he got out…

He wouldn’t have kicked out the end of their Air Conditioning unit.

But still.

It doesn’t take much to dislodge the rest of the wiring, and there’s one less angle to be viewed from.

Ianto takes a moment to pull up his hood—the restriction of peripheral vision is outweighed by increased anonymity—and pull up the zip until the flap covers part of his face.

Then he jumps.

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

Tosh keeps one eye on the screen showing Jack and Owen at the gate while her fingers fly over the keyboard.

They’d agreed that she would stay in the SUV for just this sort of situation, the darkened glass keeping her from sight, and she was glad for it.

Their systems are tight, but not airtight, and it’s easy enough to float over their data stream… the problem is how to dip into it.

She can see how the other Hacker had gotten in, the 10 minute window having come from directly linking up to the network of cameras and crushing that link; taking it over and integrating as part of their system. It’s impressive, and has her thinking that whoever hacked into their system did it to get a window to get _into_ the building—but for what she could only guess.

She hoped—gods, she hoped—that someone was breaking in to get Ianto, that he’d made an ally in the time he’s been under the radar, one who’s willing to do something like this… There’s also the possibility that this could be Ianto, though she doesn’t know why he would want to do that, or where he’d gotten the tech support to do that… hopes that when this is all over he’ll introduce her to that person, as they’d done an impressive job of fitting in with the secure coding.

Tosh didn’t think she could get in undetected , not without hooking up directly to their network as Ianto had somehow managed, but…

She blinked.

She didn’t need to get in undetected.

She needed to get in so that they couldn’t get back to her, but the alarms had already been set off. She needed to get into their files, and their security footage, but once she was in…

It wasn’t hard to match her signature to the digital imprint left behind by Ianto’s techie, and she didn’t hold back in her search for the files.

Information was sent to second and third and fourth party severs, firewalls she’d set up just of this possibility (she hadn’t thought she’d have to use them like this, though) keeping anything from echoing back, and the files are hers.

In a moment her screens are full of security feeds from a dozen cameras, and she’s setting off a decoy search for bank statements to hide what he’s after.

Screen after screen shows only armed personnel, but in one, there’s a flash of movement; one of the cameras on the Southern wall… and if Tosh wasn’t mistaken, she’d caught the last look of a leg being pulled through a window.

A small leg.

A child’s.

Ianto’s?

Hope filled her chest and she immediately switched cameras to the next hallways, watching the door that that window should connect to, but the door doesn’t move. She gives it a minute, watching it and running a program to find out what the last system search was for, besides her own. Something from inside the building…

She finds the computer that was accessed, but not the files. They aren’t part of the system… the computer itself is only hooked up in that it’s connected to the building; aside form that it’s completely isolated.

If she had the ip number, she could get in, but without that she was as close to getting the information as she was close to the computer itself.

It wasn’t going to happen.

Tosh lets out a breath, and turns to searching the cameras again. Still no movement in the hallway that window would connect to, and that shouldn’t be right. Alarms blaring, Ianto wouldn’t want to stay in one place.

… but then he also wouldn’t want to be anywhere with cameras, not if he knew the alarms would go off as soon as the cameras would go back online again.

If his tech knew what he or she was doing (and Tosh had a feeling that they must), then they could loop the video feed while tracking Ianto’s movement remotely, effectively hiding his movements so long as they held their place in the system.

But with the alarms blaring, they would no longer have the control to loop those video feeds, not in real time, so how would Ianto…

There was another bit of movement in another camera, this one of the whole camera shifting. There’s dizzying movement, and then a swaying scene of… something; it takes Tosh a moment to realize that it’s of the ground.

Another shift, and Tosh is already looking to see where, exactly, this camera is attached, because there shouldn’t be movement, there shouldn’t be any way for these cameras to be bodily moved, not that high up from the ground. There would have to be ladders involved, people on the feed—

Or someone in the vents.

She wants to laugh, because now she’s almost entirely certain that this is Ianto. It _has_ to be.

Aside form the fact that it was straight from a spy movie for someone to actually use the ventilation system to move through a building unseen, the schematics for the building show that a grown man wouldn’t fit through the ventilation shafts.

She thought back to the window she saw a leg disappear into, and brought up the feed even as the moving camera went dark.

A grown man would have ripped the downspout from the wall, getting from one window to the next.

She switches through several other cameras to see if she can get an angle on the ventilation shaft again, and when she finally does her heart leaps to her throat.

There’s a small figure running across the rear courtyard.

The figure’s hood is up, and the jacket is large enough to remove any sense of shape, but she’s certain it’s Ianto.

She stares at the feed until he gets to the fence, and reluctantly shifts focus back to Jack and Owen.

They’re back at the fence, and there’s a man standing on the other side. The two guards from earlier are standing at attention, looking… scared.

The video isn’t all that great, buts she focuses in on the man’s face anyway, adjusting the audio until she could hear over the alarm still blaring.

“—busy. You’ll have to come back another day.” The other man was saying.

“We’ve got a search warrant—” Jack started to say, and the other man cut him off with a slow shake of his head.

“When the alarm is set off, gates are locked with a deadbolt until the issue is dealt with. At minimum, we have to wait until an hour after the alarm has gone off to use the override, and as I said, my employer is busy dealing with that.”

The angle isn’t great, but Tosh can hear the grin in Jack’s voice when he says, “Sorry about setting off the alarms… I was certain that security glass of yours wasn’t so sensitive.”

The other man turns his head slightly and Tosh zeroes in on his face for the clearest image for her facial recognition software. He apparently wasn’t the one in charge, but from the sounds of it he was still somewhat high up on the social ladder.

Besides that, the two guards were still looking and acting scared of this soft-spoken man—he was large, and certainly muscular, but you didn’t get immediate reactions like that from sheer size. He might have a record.

“We suspect the alarm was triggered from an internal source; we are dealing with it. I’m going to have to ask you to come back another day. Warrant or _not_ ,” he said, obviously having noticed that Jack wasn’t exactly offering up said warrant, “no one is entering or leaving this compound until this matter is settled. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

He feels very, very, very exposed running across the rear courtyard, the lights stark against the night, but if he’s guessing correctly they’ll think that the alarm will have been set off by the convenient and also _so very annoying_ twats at the front gate. They can’t be someone with Boss Man, not if they need a warrant. He’d sigh if he had the breath for it, because _really_. The police had to come searching _tonight_? He couldn’t figure out if he’d been more lucky or unlucky in the last hour, but figured it didn’t really matter until he was clear of the fence.

The small wire cutters he used earlier are still in his pocket, the metal ends wrapped in tissue to muffle any sort of clinking noise it might make through his jacket, then it’s a few shaky clips and he’s through.

Three feet past the fence, three feet outside the fence, and he no longer feels like he’s being squeezed from all sides. It’s ridiculous and unsafe, he knows, to go so lax so close to a danger zone, but he knows he needs to just believe he’s out of reach, for now. He’s three feet outside of Boss Man’s fenced in area, and Boss Man can’t reach him.

Hell, he’s maybe a yard and a half away from Boss Man himself, _and_ his son, _and_ his possible second-in-command Roderick, and they can’t touch him.

… But other people might, and that’s the thought that finally lets him move his legs.

He’d have to go the long way around to avoid the police no doubt clogging the front of Boss Man’s warehouse, but he had to get to the nearest bus station because, he checked the time, he had two hours before the last bus came through for the night.

Ianto brushed at his jacket, watching dust motes in the air, and thought he might actually have to take the full two hours to get back on the bus. He wasn’t sure if he’d even be allowed onto the bus…

But then again, _me mam’ll be looking fer me, honest. I weren’t s’posed to be out so late, but m’mates and me were foolin’ and look! I got the fair, and_ …

Ianto shook his head. It’d be figured out.

Just like he’d figure out where Boss Man had any and all copies of his time at the Shooting Range, and figure out what else he’d have to do to get Boss Man out of the picture, because _gods_ he was tired of all this bullshit. He much preferred the supernatural romance his life had turned into in Torchwood to this… to this criminal drama it had become of late. He wanted Weevils, not Mafia Bosses looking for immortality; he wanted obscure bits of alien tech to archive, not hordes of Thugs coming after him with guns blazing—

He wanted Jack, not…

He wanted Jack.

He started the hike around the property, keeping far from the light, and thought longingly for bed. Through his pocket, he felt for the USB and squeezed it. He’d figure things out, and he’d get back to Gwen at Torchwood. He’d get back to the consistent non-life threatening work on the archives, and maybe they could find a way to get Jack back. He had a plan. It was a good plan, it would work, he had to believe that it would work.

He took a deep breath in, let it out slow.

He hadn’t felt so close to reuniting with his team in months.

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

“Fuck. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! We literally _just_ missed him.”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Tosh cautioned. “There was no clear shot of his face.”

“It was Ianto.” Jack’s voice left no room for argument. “Can you play back the feed on him outside the window?”

Though they’d watched it a half-dozen times already, Tosh brought up the video.

Shadowy and slightly distorted by the angle of the camera, they watched a small figure climb out the window and make a quick scramble to the next, elbows locked to his sides and a death grip on the spout in front of him. His left foot slid against the brick once, twice before the end of his scramble, and then he was back inside the building.

“Again,” Jack said.

Once more, and Tosh tried to see what Jack was looking for; the figure (she couldn’t think of him as Ianto, not yet) had his face turned away, and all they could see of him was the back of his hair. He hadn’t yet put up his hood, but they still didn’t have anything for her to get a face off of. All they knew was that he was young, had dark hair, and had one hell of a grip.

“Tosh, there, pause.” She blinked at the screen. “What is it?”

“Rewind by five seconds, and replay it from there. _There_ , do you see?”

It was one of the moments when his foot had slipped, but that didn’t reveal anything else. The clip repeated, and she looked to Owen to see if he was seeing whatever Jack had caught.  
“What is it?”

“…a flinch. Look at his shoulders.”

The clip replayed, and Tosh watched his shoulders instead of his feet this time. She frowned.

“What does that mean? Do you think they hurt him?”

Owen was shaking his head, and a slow grin was growing on Jack’s face.

“Not quite.”

“Then what? What could’ve… oh.”

“You think those old spouts might have some rusty edges after all this time?”

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

The bus ride was as much of an issue as Ianto thought it’d be with maybe a bit more fuss than he’d been anticipating.

Considering everything else that could have happened to him

_(The man in front of him raised his arm and pulled the trigger—)_

though, a minor cut on his hand wasn’t that bad.

The bus driver didn’t agree, apparently.

The medical kit comes out as soon as he gets inside—and he’s been happy with how much easier it is to get the fire escape ladder down since he’s been oiling it, but he doesn’t think he could have gotten it down one handed before.

So there’s that.

He’s dusty and feeling rather disgusting, and he’d rather take a shower first but he’s got to make sure his hand doesn’t need stitches, or if he’ll have to figure out a way to get a tetanus shot.

After the cut’s been washed, sterilized, and coated in a disinfectant ointment, all he’s got to do is wrap his hand in cling film and he can finally shower.

He keeps his hand out of the spray anyway, and the water runs hot enough to turn his skin pink almost immediately.

Ianto breathes in the steam, takes in the relative silence of his home, and lets himself soak in the fact that he’d been less than 3 feet away from Boss Man.

And now he wasn’t.

He was far, _far_ away from Boss Man.

And that was good.

Very good.

He preferred it, actually.

And it wasn’t like he went out _looking_ for Boss Man… But he’d been there, and Ianto had been there, and…

His heart pounded in his skull, and he nodded to himself.

Yeah. He’d be doing his utmost to avoid being within the same _block_ as Boss Man again, because he’d had Weevils bearing down on him, had aliens with guns, had _Cybermen_ and _Daleks_ , and all of them were bad but Boss Man was…

He was…

Ianto shivered under the hot water.

Somehow he was worse.

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

The theme to Mission Impossible goes off somewhere to his right, tinny and muffled, and Will had forgotten about Hank’s unfortunate habit of forgetting his phone in nooks and crannies about the house.

Currently it was somewhere under his head, between the couch cushions and, with a bit of rummaging he found it vibrating next to a green army man with chew marks on it.

He checks the display,

THING TWO

And sighs again.

He also had a problem with labeling people normally on his phone.

His fingers over the speakers muffled the tone, and if it were any other time he’d have no problem waking Hank up to deal with it, but both he and Sherry had been looking particularly tired that evening, so…  
“…Hello?”

_“Hank I figured out what Jones wants us to look into! I beat you to it, I beat you to it so hard you won’t be able to say I can’t think outside of the box anymore!”_

Will was regretting picking up the phone. Who the hell was this lady, and why did she think it was at all appropriate to be calling at—he checked his watch—2am?

“Excuse me? I think—”

 _“No, let me get this out first, I already sent you a file, but I found it. I found it! Do you understand me? Jones wants us to look into the factory on 51 st and Shorster—they brought up repeated red flags in quality control and there’s been talk of chemicals used in packaging that’s unsafe for human consumption, but somehow they keep getting past inspection and getting the go ahead to continue manufacturing, and I think I found what’s been happening! We just need to, to—ugh, it pains me to say it, and if we end up getting arrested I’ll be blaming both you _and _Jones the whole way there, see if I don’t, but we just need to get in there_ somehow _and get into their financial reports. They’re bribing the inspectors—or blackmailing them, I suppose, that’s always a possibility—and it’s not in their records. If we could just get into their systems…”_

The lady trailed off, and Will couldn’t find the words to speak. That was a lot of information to take in at once, and what he’d processed so far didn’t sound good—didn’t sound _legal_. Who was this lady? Who was Jones? Why was Jones giving Hank and this caller jobs to do? Because Hank was in accounting. Accountants didn’t deal with things like this. Accountants didn’t have to worry about being arrested for doing their jobs.

_“…Hank?”_

“…What, _exactly_ , has Hank gotten himself into?”

Because he _couldn’t_ have been stupid enough to get himself into something illegal, not when he has Sherry and the kids to look after, not when it sounded like Hank was all for adding to their gaggle of children already. Hank _can’t_ have been that stupid.

 _“… Oh,”_ is what the lady finally said, the silence stretching. _“Oops.”_

And then she hung up.

_Oh. Oops. And then she hung up._

_Seriously?_

Will took in a deep breath, held it for a count of five, and slowly let it out.

 _Well_ , he thought, slowly lowering Hank’s phone from his ear and grabbing for a pen and a notepad. _He can’t be in something_ that _bad, not with accomplices_ this _inept_.          

But then that was worrying in itself.

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

_“What the hell are you calling me about at fucking five o’clock in the morning?”_

“Hi, hello? I was just wondering, what does the name ‘Jones’ mean to you?”

_“… You have got to be fucking kidding me. Ha ha ha that is just_ **so** _funny. Hank if you call me this early ever again I’ll kill you. I will actually stab you, repeatedly, probably in the face. And then I’ll go back to sleep. Good_ **night** _.”_

***click***

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

The day greeted Cardiff with torrential rainfall, enough to convince Ianto that he really ought to stay inside. He was half-tempted to go back to bed, but as soon as he’d moved Jackie had taken over his warm spot, and it wasn’t worth the grief he’d get moving her.

Instead, he moved the kittens from their box to the bed to join their mum, moving a door block he’d scrabbled together in front of the doorway.

That was another thin he had to look into.

He was sore, and tired, and his hand ached, but he was still feeling that rush of accomplishment (and no little fear, because Boss Man had been _right there_ ), but just because he’d gotten the information he needed didn’t mean he could slow down.

He had a lot of things to do…

One of which was to find homes for 6 kittens.

How did one get rid of kittens once you’ve got them?

In his mind’s eye he saw their speckled bodies in a box on the side of the street (no, just—no), then signs posted on street corners (“Please call—”, no, or maybe “Please visit—”, no again, “Please contact at this e-mail”…? Maybe), a posting on Kijiji… could you do that? He should probably check before dismissing it as a possibility.

Navigating the site, Ianto slowly started shaking his head. Most of these postings were… well, ‘shady’ would be putting it lightly.

His eye caught on one listing, this one someone _looking_ for cats of good health, and he couldn’t help but frown. Why had it caught his eye? Did he recognize the number…?

Ianto made a face, and closed the tab. No, no, it wasn’t the phone number, it was the address, and he remembered it because there’d been alien activity there that had resulted in the residents of that apartment complex gaining a taste for synthetic materials and various household items. They hadn’t managed to _fix_ things, but they’d at least been able to redirect the urge to eat non-edible items to edible, if questionable, items. Chewing on bones and having an appreciation for road kill was a far sight better than being unable to stop yourself from eating a tasty looking light bulb, or, say, the appealing blue liquid in spray bottles.

His eyes widened. What did they need cats for?

He consciously turned his thoughts away from the matter.

He checked Craigslist next, but didn’t manage to navigate past the main page, as he was entirely unwilling to sell or give away cats on a site that sold and gave away locations to meet up to have sex.

(Clearly this site was selling pussies of the wrong sort, is what Ianto absolutely didn’t think of or laugh over)

He fingered the edge of the bandage around his hand, and wiggled his fingers.

The injury itself felt warm and tight, skin feeling stretched when he flexed.

One more problem for him to deal with, but not as bad as it could be.

He set a pot of water to boil, and set about changing the bandages on his hand, disinfectant and polysporin set out.

He needed to figure out what to do with the kittens, and soon… not the least because he can’t handle so many cats at once. Also, he shook his head; people were more likely to take in a kitten than they are to adopt a cat. It’s why shelters had—Ianto blinked, finished wrapping up his hand and set his old bandages in the boiled water to wash and disinfect.

The local animal shelter might be the answer to this question, at least. It would be _five_ less problems for him to look after.

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

“Good morning, oh brother mine! You know, _I_ have to get up early on weekends because I have children, but you know _you_ don’t, so… oh, hey, my phone.”

Will sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee at his left hand, Hank’s phone at his right, and a pad of paper in front of him.

Hank grabbed his mug to get his own cup of coffee—“No. 1 Dad” was _right_ , thank you very much—and craned his head to look at what was written there, looked like a list of some sort, names and numbers and—

“Hey, uncool. I don’t go through your phone, and you know why? Because _people don’t do that_.”

Will nodded slightly, a slight tilt of his head to one side, and Hank knew something other than a vastly out of character breach of privacy was up.

Because that wasn’t Will’s yeah-I-did-a-bad-thing-and-am-ashamed-thusly nod, no, that’s his I-did-a-bad-thing-because-you-done-fucked-up-and-therefore-I’m-angry nod, and last time that happened Hank had gotten a black eye and a lecture.

There was a lecture before the black eye, too, so it was a lecture-punch sandwich.

But Hank couldn’t think of anything that he’d done to deserve a nod of this magnitude, so—

“I got an interesting call last night—or rather, _you_ did.”

Hank felt his entire face go blank. Oh god, who called?

“I picked it up, because it was 2am and I _thought_ you and Sherry deserved some rest considering how busy you’ve been with your three _happy_ , _healthy_ children, you and your beautiful and _ridiculously_ perfect for you wife, and I thought there was no way you’d be getting suspect calls, so. Hank. I’m willing to give you the benefit of doubt here, as there’s certainly no way you’re doing anything illegal, not when you’ve got yourself a perfect partner and three great kids, so. I’m going to ask you once. Who, _exactly_ , is Thing Two, and why are they calling about a guy named Jones?”

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

Ianto hung up on the third animal shelter he’d called that morning, scowling.

Three animal shelters, and three responses along the lines of “We’d be happy to take in five kittens—we are a bit pressed for space, but—oh, well, if they aren’t adopted we… can’t keep them indefinitely.”

Ianto had no reason not to think that the five kittens rolling about on his sheets would be adopted into good homes, but that didn’t keep him from imagining that not all of them will _stay_ in good homes.

When he’d been in school, he remembered one not-friend mentioning that she was planning on getting a puppy with her boyfriend. When he’d asked if she really thought she’d be prepared to look after a dog full-time, she’d responded that, well, like, they weren’t planning on keeping it. They’d just keep it until it was no longer a puppy.

Ianto didn’t want to not trust people on principle, but he also knew he couldn’t really trust someone else to ensure that these kittens would go to good families.

He felt a twitch in his jaw and sighed. He really didn’t want to feel responsible for these kittens, especially as he didn’t know what to do with them, but he already did.

Shaking his head, he decided the problem could stay on the backburner of his mind for now, and checked in with Mini.

He’d left her the information gathered from Boss Man’s Lair overnight, to bring down the possible locations of the hard copy of Ianto’s time in The Shooting Range.

16 locations, 11 in Wales, 5 in London, and two could be crossed off; one in London (the Shooting Range) and the one he’d visited last night.

He didn’t think Mini actually needed the full 8+ hours he’d given her, but he did trust that along with narrowing down the places he needed to get to, she’d also get him the details he’d need to get to the possible hard drives, or USB’s, or DVD’s he’d need to pick up.

On the main monitor he found that the information he needed was spread out, but on his second monitor he found a small notice; apparently he had mail.

He frowned, and had Mini check for any viruses, bugs, or other possible pitfalls, as the only other e-mail he’d gotten in months was from Boss Man. Did Boss Man know he’d been under the same roof—in the same _room_ —as Ianto Jones in the last 24 hours? He figured that Alden—Boss Man’s _son_ , and wasn’t that still a mind-boggling piece of information—had probably mentioned him, and probably not favorably.

His frown deepened. Or would he? Would Alden mention his encounter to his father, or would he hide it as another failure—a more direct failure—to catch Ianto as he was apparently tasked to do?

He shook his head gain, and once Mini gave the green light he opened it—

He didn’t know his blog could get comments. It made sense, he supposed, but still.

A less dire surprise than he’d expected.

He wondered what he’d written to get a comment on—

What?

He read through it twice, and went to his blog to reread the post on Jack-actually-Jackie, and tried to figure out where any of this was coming from.

He’d known about the vitriol that could be flung about on the internet over the smallest things, but he’d written about misidentifying the gender of his cat—who wasn’t even really his cat so much as it was the cat that he shared space with—with some ponderings about what to do with the kittens he’d be dealing with.

His frown deepened, and he was honestly at a loss.

He didn’t care that he’d somehow disappointed some stranger on the Internet (honestly it was laughable, considering), but he was rather curious about where any of this was coming from.

He supposed a great deal of it could be due to his musings on what to do with the kittens—it would explain somewhat the emphasis on using kittens for work/gain/profit and how they needed good homes, no matter the breed. Did this guy think he was planning on selling off the kittens? He could, he supposed, but he didn’t need the money. He’d been thinking on this already, so he could see where there might be some misunderstandings. Maybe he thought that, since finding out that Jack-the-cat was Jackie-the-mummy-cat, he’d… _breed_ her to make money?

He felt a migraine growing behind his eyes; he didn’t know anything about cats, he didn’t know anything about selling cats, and he absolutely knew nothing about _breeding_ cats, and it was mildly distressing to be accused of something like this over a vague and (in his opinion) mildly amusing blog post.

He thought it must be something along these breeding/selling to the highest bidder types of possibilities, though he still could see nothing in his blog that would have lent any credibility to this idea.

Curious, he set Mini to tracking down the commenter, and wondered if he should respond. Was he going to be the type of person to respond to comments on his blog? There was the option to reply, so obviously it was a thing that people did, but…

He hesitated, mouse hovering over the “Reply” button, before shaking his head.

Better question would be if he had anything to respond _with_ , and he really had no idea what to say to this guy.

Mini brought up the e-mail and connected social media links of the commenter, and Ianto felt his eyebrows raise.

He didn’t think that Hank McMasters was such a cat person, especially as he didn’t recall seeing any note of previous pets. Maybe it was due to his financial problems…

He blinked and brought up the medical records of McMasters and his family, checking for allergies, and smiled when there was none.

Well, this was one way he could go about dealing with his kittens. Probably not the most ethically sound way of doing things, people-wise, but if he found owners for the kittens himself and… donated, well.

There were probably lots of families that wanted to get a kitten, but couldn’t due to money problems, and it wasn’t like Ianto would ever be able to use up all of the cash he’d put in his account.

Still a bit baffled over the strange comment, Ianto set Mini to finding people and families with the appropriate qualifications—no allergies, good neighborhood, good home, maybe kids—and shifted to read through the information Mini had gotten on Boss Man’s properties.

From 14 units down to 5, with only one in London, Ianto still had his work cut out for him finding where Boss Man hid the footage.

The thought didn’t keep his spirits from lifting, though, as he at least had a better idea of what he was going to do.

It was better than what he had a week ago—hell, it was better than what he’d had even 48 hours ago.

He shot a quick glance to the ceiling. Deal with Boss Man, deal with kittens, and then he could focus on getting Jack back.

.-~-~-~~-~-~-.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, I just realized that if you read the note at the end of last chapter, you’d probably assume that the reunion would be in this chapter. Because I said that the end was in sight, and with the cliffie I left, you all probably thought that Ianto was going to be reunited, and I’m sorry but no.  
> Though I have to admit I did take advantage of the assumption… I know some of you were probably swearing at “He hadn’t felt so close to reuniting with his team in months.”… I know I can be a bit of a dick sometimes ;)  
> But… but look! LOOK!  
> Let me know what you think, and hopefully there’ll be less of a gap between now and the next chapter ☺  
> Just please keep in mind that this story is not going to be abandoned, it just might take a bit of time between updates now that work and whatnot is happening.  
> Also, if you’re wondering, the thing about the puppy, with the girl planning on only keeping it until it was a dog, that was a conversation I had. To those planning on something similar, 1, you’re a dirtbag piece of shit, and 2, gtfo of my fandom, you don’t deserve any fix-it as you are essentially condemning an animal to be put down, or ‘destroyed’, because dogs with no training have a hard time getting adopted.  
> Apologies for rantage to everyone else :) Have a nice day!


End file.
